THE  STORY  OF 
THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 


\ 

I     I  '. 


A  GOOD-WIFE   FROM  BATH  — PAGE  6 


THE  STORY  OF 
THE 

CANTERBURY 
PILGRIMS 


F 


RETOLD  FROM 

CHAUCER 

AMD  OTHERS  BY 
*  HARVEY  BARTON 


Illustrations  ctyyrtghted,  1914, 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPAIW 

reserved 


•* 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  FIRST  DAY 
AT  THE  TABARD:    THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  PILGRIMAGE      .  I 

THE  SECOND  DAY 

THE  DEPARTURE  FROM  SOUTHWARK II 

THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE:     PALAMON  AND  ARCITA 

I. — PALAMON  AND  ARCITA  FALL  OUT 14 

II. — THE  MEETING  IN  THE  WOOD .  21 

III. — THE  ANSWER  OF  THE  GODS 28 

IV. — THE  TOURNAMENT 35 

"THE  MILLER  is  A  CHURL" .     .  42 

THE  COOK'S  TALE:    SIR  GAMELYN 47 

THE  THIRD  DAY 

A  SERGEANT  OF  THE  LAW 67 

THE  MAN  OF  LAW'S  TALE:     FAITHFUL  CONSTANCE 69 

SIR  GENTLE  MASTER,  GENTLE  MARINER! 83 

V*"HE  PRIORESS'S  TALE:    THE  BOY  MARTYR 86 

CHAUCER  AND  THE  MONK 89 

V<PHE  NUN'S  PRIEST'S  ^TALE:    THE  COCK  AND  THE  Fox      ....  100 

THE  FOURTH  DAY 

SOME  ENGLISH  ROGUES 109 

THE  PHYSICIAN'S  TALE:  VIRGINIA 113 

A  GENTLE  PARDONER  OF  ROUNCIVAL 116 

vSPfiE  PARDONER'S  TALE:  THE  THREE  REVELERS  AND  DEATH  .  .  120 

"WHO'LL  BUY  MY  PARDONS?" 125 

DAME  ALISON  OF  BATH 126 

V^THE  WIFE  OF  BATH'S  TALE:  THE  OLD  WOMAN  AND  THE  KNIGHT  129 

HUBERT  THE  FRIAR 134 

THE  FRIAR'S  TALE:  THE  SUMMONER  AND  THE  FIEND  ....  136 
THE  SUMMONER  AND  THE  CLERK  OF  OXFORD 142 

MS07* 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  CLERK'S  TALE:     PATIENT  GRISELDA  ....*....   145 

"GRISELDA  is  DEAD,  AND  HER  PATIENCE  TOO"       .     .     .     .     .     .     .160 

THE  FIFTH  DAY 

THE  SQUIRE 163 

THE  SQUIRE'S  TALE:    "THE  STORY  OF  CAMBUSCAN  BOLD" 

I. — THE  MAGIC  GIFTS  AND  THE  FALSE  TERCELET     .     .     .     .164 

II.— THE  BRETHREN  THREE 171 

III. — FIERCE  WARS  AND  FAITHFUL  LOVES 179 

EPICURUS'  OWN  SON 188 

THE  FRANKLIN'S  TALE:    THE  ROCKS  REMOVED 190 

THE  SECOND  NUN'S  TALE:     ST.  CECILIE 201 

THE  COURTEOUS  STRANGERS 208 

THE  CANON'S  YEOMAN'S  TALE:    THE  ALCHEMIST 215 

A  QUARREL  AND  A  MISHAP 221 

THE  MANCIPLE'S  TALE:     How  CROWS  BECAME  BLACK       ....  224 

THE  PARSON 226 

AT  CANTERBURY:    THE  CHEQUER  OF  THE  HOOP 228 

THE  JOURNEY  HOME:    JOHN  LYDGATE'S  TALE    .     .     .     .     .     .     .  240 

THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THEBES 

I. — EDIPPUS  THE  PARRICIDE 242 

II. — THE  TREACHERY  OF  ETHIOCLES 249 

III. — THE  DOOM  OF  THEBES .257 

"A  GOOD  TALE  NEEDS  A  GOOD  WILL" 264 

THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE:    BERYN 

I. — THE  FOLLY  OF  BERYN 265 

II. — THE  BURGESSES  OF  FALSETOWN 274 

III. — THE  LAND  OF  LIES 284 

IV. — GEOFFREY  THE  MASTER-ROGUE 296 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 310 

Of  the  tales  in  this  book,  the  following  are  taken  from  works  not  by 
Chaucer:  "  Sir  Gamelyri'  (author  unknown};  "The  Story  of  Cam- 
buscan  Bold"  Part  II  (from  Spenser) ,  and  Part  IV  (from  an  eight- 
eenths entury  writer  who  attempted  to  complete  this  tale  entirely); 
"The  Chequer  of  the  Hoop"  and  "Beryn"  (author  unknown);  and 
"The  Destruction  of  Thebes'  (from  Lydgate). 


THE  STORY  OF 
THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 


THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

THE  FIRST  DAY 

AT  THE  TABARD;  THE  BEGINNING  OF 
THE  PILGRIMAGE 

LONG  ago,  when  Richard  II.  was  King,  the  highways  of 
England  must  have  been  a  far  gayer  and  stranger  sight 
than  they  are  nowadays.  The  roads  themselves  were 
bad  ones,  little  better  than  rough,  muddy  lanes,  and  often  very 
dangerous  by  reason  of  the  robbers  who  lurked  in  the  woods 
which  were  so  widely  spread  over  the  land.  But  on  these  roads, 
bad  as  they  were,  traveled  wayfarers  who  appear  to  us  now  no 
more  than  the  people  of  legends,  who  seem  never  really  to  have 
lived  except  in  songs  and  stories.  Day  after  day  men  would 
pass  up  and  down  in  strange  garments  and  on  errands  so  strange 
that,  if  we  could  look  back  and  see  them  close  at  hand,  we  might 
fancy  ourselves,  so  far  as  outside  appearances  went,  well  on  the 
way  to  fairyland.  Yet  these  were  after  all  the  ordinary  English- 
men of  those  days,  living  and  thinking  really  not  very  differently 
from  ourselves,  though  we  only  know  of  them  now  through 
books. 

Imagine  a  highway  of  those  times,  and  fancy  the  travelers  go- 
ing to  and  fro  upon  it.  Here  you  might  see  a  knight  riding  with 
his  squire  to  some  tournament,  or  maybe  merely  roving  in  search 
of  adventures  with  other  knight-errants  like  himself.  Or  round 


2  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

a  bend  in  the  road  would  appear  some  great  lord,  with  a  long 
train  of  armed  men  and  servants  on  horseback;  even  the  ladies 
would  be  riding,  for  carriages  were  rare  and  uncomfortable. 
Here,  again,  was  a  wandering  minstrel,  or  a  troop  of  jugglers, 
going  to  some  castle  near  at  hand,  where  they  would  be  sure  of  a 
welcome,  rich  and  poor  alike  showing  hospitality  according  to 
their  means.  Perhaps  a  monk  or  a  friar  would  pass  on  his  way 
to  beg  offerings  from  anyone  he  could  find,  meeting  with  a 
response  from  most  men,  but  a  welcome  from  few,  for  many  of 
the  officers  of  the  Church  bore  a  bad  name,  abusing  their  great 
power,  and  winning  the  hatred  of  the  poorer  classes. 

People  were  much  more  friendly,  much  gayer,  and  much  more 
outspoken  and  unrestrained.  Travelers  would  gladly  join  to- 
gether for  a  journey,  partly  for  safety,  but  quite  as  much  for  the 
pleasure  of  one  another's  company  on  the  road.  They  willingly 
helped  each  other,  and  few  would  pass  on  the  road  without  ex- 
changing greetings.  But  in  spite  of  this  friendliness  among 
strangers,  there  were  very  clear  divisions  between  the  rich  and 
the  poor.  The  court  and  the  great  nobles  thought  themselves  far 
above  the  rich  middle  class,  who  imitated  them  in  many  ways, 
and  who  in  turn  looked  down  on  the  lowest  classes  of  all.  The 
nobles  spent  their  time  in  fighting  and  learning  to  fight,  in  enter- 
taining and  feasting,  in  carrying  on  affairs  of  State;  the  middle 
class  in  trade  or  agriculture ;  while  the  lower  classes  were  in  many 
cases  little  more  than  slaves,  even  when  their  condition  was  not 
hopelessly  bad.  And  apart  from  these  social  distinctions  there 
was,  of  course,  much  more  discomfort,  more  violence,  more  op- 
pression then  than  now. 

But  in  spite  of  all  hardships,  men  really  loved  gayety — gay 
clothes  of  every  kind  of  bright  color,  gay  trappings  to  their 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  PILGRIMAGE  3 

horses,  gay  songs  and  dances  (for  everyone  then  was  musical). 
They  loved  also  the  open  air  and  spring  and  the  sun  and  flowers, 
so  that  often  young  knights  and  ladies  would  spend  their  after- 
noons in  the  pleasant  walled  gardens  of  the  great  castles,  weav- 
ing garlands  of  blossoms  and  singing  and  dancing  merely  for  joy 
in  the  fine  day.  Fighting,  too,  was  an  amusement;  a  man  went 
light-heartedly  to  his  death  in  a  tourney,  as  if  to  a  joyful  feast, 
and  ladies  looked  on  gladly  at  a  fight,  and  encouraged  their  faith- 
ful knights  to  acts  of  prowess.  As  for  the  games  and  sports  that 
were  played  by  all  classes,  they  were  without  number. 

People  were  more  unrestrained,  again,  both  in  deed  and  in 
word.  If  a  man's  wife  disobeyed  him,  he  beat  her  till  she  knew 
better.  Knights  might  be  courteous  and  debonair  in  their  man- 
ners, but  they  could  be  brutal  and  harsh  as  well.  Men  talked 
more  freely,  too,  about  all  manner  of  things,  and  their  ideas  of 
the  mirth  of  which  they  were  so  fond  were  not  always  the  same 
as  ours  nowadays.  But  above  all  they  were  outspoken  in  regard 
to  sacred  things.  They  were  continually  meeting,  for  good  or 
ill,  one  or  other  of  the  officers  of  the  Church,  and  the  Church 
had  a  wide  power  over  their  daily  life;  and  so  they  spoke  very 
familiarly  both  of  the  clergy  and  of  religion.  But  though  they 
talked  lightly  and  freely  of  these  matters,  as  it  seems  to  us  now, 
they  did  not  think  at  all  lightly  of  them,  but  deeply  and  seriously. 
These  thoughts  they  often  carried  out  very  openly  in  acts  and 
words,  and  thus,  as  the  outcome  of  their  readiness  to  do  religious 
deeds  frankly  and  without  constraint,  almost  the  commonest 
sight  to  be  seen  on  an  English  roadside  was  the  wayfaring  pil- 
grim. 

A  pilgrimage  was  one  of  the  most  popular  of  institutions.  It 
was  the  custom  for  men  to  go  long  journeys  at  certain  seasons  to 


4  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

the  shrines  of  famous  saints,  or  to  cathedrals  and  abbeys  where 
relics  of  good  and  holy  men  were  to  be  found,  for  it  was  be- 
lieved that  by  traveling  so  far  they  showed  their  sorrow  and 
penitence  for  any  evil  they  had  done;  and  they  sometimes  en- 
deavored to  display  still  deeper  repentance  by  going  barefoot  or 
lightly-clad,  or  in  some  other  painful  way.  They  made  special 
vows  at  these  shrines,  for  prayers  at  such  places,  by  virtue  of  the 
saints  and  martyrs  who  had  lived  or  died  there,  were  thought  to 
be  of  more  power  than  those  offered  elsewhere. 

The  chief  season  for  pilgrimages  was  spring,  when  the  sweet 
showers  of  April  had  put  to  flight  the  dryness  and  cold  weather 
of  March.  At  that  time  of  the  year  the  west  wind  with  his  sweet 
breath  is  giving  new  life  to  all  the  plants  and  flowers.  The 
young  sun  has  just  left  the  sign  of  the  Ram  in  the  heavenly 
Zodiac^  and  the  little  birds  are  beginning  to  sing  again,  and  to 
sleep  all  night  with  one  eye  open.  Men,  too,  like  the  flowers 
and  birds,  feel  new  strength  in  their  veins,  and  early  spring  in 
those  far-off  days,  five  centuries  and  more  ago,  seemed  to  bid 
them  leave  their  homes  and  use  their  fresh  vigor  in  a  journey  to 
some  distant  place,  to  renew  their  vows  and  repent  of  their  sins. 

Some  pilgrims  would  go  abroad,  to  sacred  spots  far  distant  in 
foreign  lands — to  the  Holy  Land,  for  instance,  or  to  the  shrine 
of  St.  James  of  Compostella  in  Spain — and  they  would  come 
back  wearing  a  token  of  palm  from  Jerusalem,  or  a  St.  James's 
scollop-shell,  as  a  sign  of  their  devotion.  But  there  were  also  in 
England  itself  many  places  which  they  visited,  and  the  most 
famous  of  all  was  the  shrine  of  the  martyr  Thomas  Becket  in  the 
cathedral  at  Canterbury,  to  which  men  came  from  every  part 
of  the  country,  and  even  from  Europe  itself. 

Thus  it  was  a  frequent  sight  in  the  England  of  those  days  to 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  PILGRIMAGE  5 

see  a  band  of  pilgrims  slowly  going  on  their  way  through  Kent, 
the  country-folk  staring  at  the  noise  and  dust  of  the  gayly-clad 
little  company,  and  all  the  dogs  barking  at  their  heels.  Some- 
times, indeed,  a  pilgrimage  seemed  nothing  but  an  excuse  for  a 
lively  and  pleasant  holiday,  and  the  travelers  often  made  them- 
selves very  merry  on  the  road,  with  their  loud  jests  and  songs,  and 
their  flutes  and  fiddles  and  bagpipes.  But  there  were  very  many 
who  went  with  high  thoughts  in  their  hearts,  garbed  outwardly 
in  accordance  with  the  reverent  purpose  of  their  journey,  wear- 
ing the  sober  robe  and  hat,  and  carrying  the  staff  and  scrip  which 
were  known  as  the  proper  "weeds"  for  a  serious  pilgrim.  And 
even  those  who  turned  the  journey  into  a  pleasant  outing  never 
forgot  their  real  purpose  in  going,  and  were  moved  by  a  real 
religious  feeling,  in  spite  of  all  their  light  behavior. 

It  chanced  one  year  that  Geoffrey  Chaucer,  the  poet  who 
wrote  most  of  these  "Canterbury  Tales,"  made  up  his  mind  to  go 
on  a  pilgrimage  to  Canterbury;  and  accordingly  he  set  out  early 
in  April.  On  his  way,  he  stopped  one  Tuesday  evening  at  the 
Tabard  Inn,  in  Southwark,  kept  by  a  certain  Harry  Bailly,  close 
to  the  Bell.  The  Tabard  (a  tabard  was  a  kind  of  sleeveless 
coat),  or  a  rebuilt  inn  on  the  same  site,  was  still  standing  nearly 
five  hundred  years  later;  but  in  Chaucer's  time  it  was  much  more 
important  than  in  after  days,  because  Southwark  was  a  common 
resting-place  for  Canterbury  pilgrims,  and  here  they  usually  got 
fresh  horses  to  take  them  on  the  road.  A  journey  as  far  as  Can- 
terbury was  no  light  matter  in  those  days,  if  it  seems  no  great  dis- 
tance from  London  now;  the  bad  roads  made  traveling  slow,  and 
though  a  man  in  a  hurry  might  accomplish  as  much  as  forty 
miles  in  one  day,  most  people  would  be  content  with  twenty  or 
so  at  the  most.  Sometimes  great  personages  would  get  to  Can- 


6  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

terbury  and  back  in  as  little  as  four  days.  But  a  large  body  of 
pilgrims,  some  of  them  unable  to  travel  fast  because  of  their 
poor  mounts,  would  have  to  go  at  the  pace  of  the  slowest  mem- 
ber of  the  company,  and  so  would  be  very  leisurely  over  the 
journey. 

There  were  many  people  already  gathered  at  the  Tabard  when 
Chaucer  arrived — a  good-wife  from  Bath,  for  example,  who  had 
just  ridden  up  on  an  ambling  nag;  a  clerk  or  student  from  Ox- 
ford, riding  a  horse  as  lean  as  a  rake,  even  thinner  than  he  was 
himself;  a  miller  in  a  white  coat  and  blue  hood,  with  his  bag- 
pipes lying  idle  by  his  side,  as  he  sat  drinking  great  draughts  of 
the  Tabard's  ale;  and  many  another  one.  More  continually 
came  up  from  every  quarter,  knowing  that  the  inn  was  a  good 
place  at  which  to  put  up  for  the  night  and  get  food  and  rest. 

The  travelers  belonged  to  all  kinds  of  different  ranks  and 
professions,  and  had  come  from  many  parts  of  England.  Most 
of  them  were  of  the  middle  class,  and  it  was  clear  enough  that 
they  were  all  bent  on  the  same  errand.  The  pilgrimage  was  a 
bond  of  friendliness  and  good  fellowship  between  them,  and 
before  long  Chaucer  himself  had  spoken  to  everyone.  They 
soon  agreed  that  it  would  be  safer  and  easier  for  them  if  they 
continued  their  journey  all  together  in  one  band,  and  they  re- 
solved to  get  up  betimes  the  next  morning,  in  order  to  set  out  in 
good  time.  Men  rose  and  went  to  bed  early  in  those  days;  if 
they  were  up  at  six  in  the  morning,  they  were  usually  asleep 
again  by  nine  or  ten  o'clock  at  night  at  the  latest. 

The  Tabard  was  an  inn  of  a  very  good  repute,  and  both  man 
and  beast  were  well  cared  for  there.  Harry  Bailly,  the  host, 
was  a  stout,  bright-eyed  man,  of  a  fine  imposing  presence,  a 
merry,  outspoken  fellow,  though  quite  wise  and  prudent  with 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  PILGRIMAGE  7 

all  his  jollity.  He  gave  the  pilgrims  good  cheer,  with  food  and 
wine  of  the  best,  and  sat  talking  and  joking  with  them  as  they 
were  eating  their  supper. 

When  they  had  paid  their  reckoning  (which  they  did  over- 
night in  order  to  save  time  in  the  morning) ,  they  fell  to  asking 
him  about  the  coming  journey,  and  the  pleasures  and  amuse- 
ments they  would  have  on  the  way.  They  could  not  travel  much 
more  than  fifteen  miles  a  day,  they  thought,  as  they  were  such 
a  mixed  company,  so  that  they  would  have  to  make  the  time 
pass  in  some  fashion  or  other. 

Harry  Bailly  listened  to  their  words,  and  talked  and  laughed 
freely  with  them.  At  length  he  told  them  of  a  plan  which  their 
questions  had  suggested  to  him. 

"You  are  right  welcome  here,  good  sirs,"  he  said.  "I  have 
not  seen  such  a  merry  company  together  in  my  house  this  year, 
and  I  would  gladly  do  something  which  I  have  just  thought  of 
to  serve  you.  Listen  to  me.  You  are  about  to  go  on  your  way 
to  Canterbury — well,  God  speed  you,  say  I,  and  may  the  saint 
help  you  when  you  reach  his  shrine!  On  the  journey  you  will 
have  many  a  cheerful  tale  and  jest,  I  warrant;  there  is  no  mirth 
in  riding  together  all  the  way  as  dumb  as  stones.  Now,  I  have 
a  plan  for  making  you  merry,  if  you  will  hear  it.  Hold  up  your 
hands,  if  you  wish  me  to  explain  it  to  you." 

They  were  not  long  in  deciding;  they  did  not  think  they  need 
hesitate  about  the  matter,  and  without  more  ado  held  up  their 
hands  to  show  that  they  were  ready  to  hear  the  Host's  advice. 

"Listen,  then,"  he  went  on,  "and  do  not  look  down  on  what 
I  shall  say;  I  will  speak  plainly.  Each  of  you  shall  tell  a  tale 
to  pass  the  time  and  make  the  journey  seem  short — one  or  more 
on  the  road  to  Canterbury,  and  the  same  on  the  way  back. 


8  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

When  you  have  all  done  this,  the  tales  shall  be  judged.  Who- 
ever is  thought  to  have  told  the  best  shall  have  a  supper  given 
him  here  at  the  Tabard  by  all  of  you  when  you  come  back  on 
your  way  home  again.  And  to  make  you  still  merrier,  I  myself 
will  gladly  ride  with  you,  at  my  own  cost,  and  be  your  guide  and 
captain;  you  shall  promise  to  do  what  I  tell  you,  and  if  anyone 
disobeys  me,  he  shall  pay  whatever  is  spent  that  day.  That  is 
my  plan,  and  if  you  agree  to  it,  say  so  without  any  more  words, 
and  I  will  get  ready  to  go  with  you." 

The  guests  were  very  glad  to  hear  a  device  which  would  save 
them  so  much  trouble  and  make  the  journey  more  cheerful. 
They  soon  agreed  to  do  as  the  Host  said — to  let  him  be  ruler  of 
the  whole  company  in  all  things,  and  judge  of  the  stories.  Then 
they  all  went  to  bed  for  the  night. 

Thus  a  company  was  formed  for  the  pilgrimage,  and  thus  they 
undertook  to  tell  so  many  tales  on  the  way  to  Canterbury. 

Apart  from  Chaucer  and  the  Host,  there  were  some  thirty 
others,  all  of  them  men  such  as  could  be  seen  anywhere  in  Eng- 
land at  that  day.  They  represented  many  different  professions, 
from  chivalry  to  the  humblest  rank  of  freemen,  and  from  the 
most  honorable  orders  of  the  Church  to  those  who  were  bringing 
it  into  disrepute  and  dislike.  About  some  of  them  (if  you  do 
not  know  what  sort  of  men  they  were)  you  will  learn  more  as 
the  journey  goes  on,  because  of  the  stories  they  told  and  their 
behavior  on  the  road.  Their  number  was  made  up  thus : 

A  Knight,  who  had  just  come  back  from  the  wars,  and  was 
going  to  give  thanks  for  his  safety.  His  fustian  doublet  was 
still  travel-stained,  and  his  horses  were  not  gayly  harnessed,  but 
good,  steady,  useful  beasts. 

The  Knight's  son,  who  acted  as  his  Squire. 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  PILGRIMAGE  9 

A  Yeoman,  a  crop-headed,  brown-faced  fellow,  who  came  in 
attendance  upon  the  Knight  and  the  Squire,  and  was  their  only 
servant.  He  was  a  forester,  and  knew  his  craft  well.  He  wore 
a  bright-green  jacket  and  hood,  and  carried  a  sword,  buckler,  and 
horn,  and  a  bright,  sharp-pointed  dagger.  He  bore  in  his  hand 
a  mighty  bow,  and  always  kept  the  peacock-feathered  arrows  at 
his  belt  in  good  condition  and  ready  for  use.  On  his  breast  was 
fastened  a  silver  brooch,  showing  the  figure  of  St.  Christopher, 
to  save  him  from  sudden  death  or  harm. 

A  Prioress,  attended  by  a  Nun  and  three  Priests. 

A  Monk  and  a  Friar. 

A  Merchant,  wearing  a  Flemish  beaver  hat  and  clad  in  motley. 

The  Clerk  of  Oxford,  a  Man  of  Law,  and  a  Franklin. 

A  Haberdasher,  a  Carpenter,  a  Weaver,  a  Dyer,  and  a  Carpet- 
maker,  all  wearing  the  livery  of  a  great  Gild  or  company.  They 
seemed  prosperous  and  well-kept  citizens,  every  one  of  them, 
the  sheaths  of  their  knives  being  newly  tipped  with  polished 
silver,  and  their  girdles  and  pouches  spick  and  span.  They  were 
five  good,  honest  men,  likely  and  well  fitted  to  become  alder- 
men ;  and  if  that  happened,  their  wives  would  be  mightily  proud 
of  them,  for  then  the  good  ladies  would  be  called  "madam,"  and 
walk  in  front  of  their  neighbors  at  church  and  in  public  places. 

A  Cook  and  a  Shipman. 

A  Doctor  of  Medicine,  who  knew  the  causes  of  all  kinds  of 
diseases,  and  could  cure  every  illness.  He  had  some  knowledge 
also  of  astronomy,  and  was  an  able  and  prosperous  physician; 
yet  he  was  very  simple  in  his  habits,  and  never  took  to  spending 
rashly  the  wealth  he  won  in  the  plague  years.  His  clothes  were 
of  cloth  of  two  colors — bright  red  and  blue-gray,  lined  with 
taffety  and  sendal,  two  kinds  of  fine  silk. 


10  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

The  Good-wife  from  Bath,  named  Dame  Alison. 

A  Parson,  a  poor  man  as  far  as  money  goes,  but  rich  in  holy 
thoughts  and  deeds.  A  better  shepherd  of  his  flock  you  would 
never  find.  He  did  not  forget  to  visit  and  teach  the  poor  of  his 
village,  or  to  give  alms,  and  he  would  never  press  hard  upon 
those  who  could  not  pay  their  tithes  to  him.  He  set  an  example 
by  doing  good  deeds  first  and  teaching  them  afterwards,  without 
any  pride  or  outward  show,  and  he  was  not  one  of  those  who 
used  to  leave  their  parish  to  others  to  look  after,  but  himself 
lived  and  worked  among  his  own  people,  teaching  and  following 
the  word  of  Christ. 

The  Parson's  brother,  a  poor  farmer  and  plowman,  a  true, 
good  worker,  who  threshed  and  dug  and  ditched  for  himself, 
earning  his  living  by  his  own  toil,  and  willingly  giving  his  help 
to  his  poorer  friends  whenever  he  could.  He  lived  in  peace 
and  perfect  charity  with  all  men,  and  loved  God  above  all  things, 
and  his  neighbor  as  himself. 

A  Miller,  a  Manciple,  a  Reeve,  a  Summoner,  and  a  Pardoner, 
whose  doings  and  professions  will  be  seen  later. 

These,  then,  were  the  pilgrims  who  set  out  for  Canterbury  to- 
gether from  the  Tabard  Inn  in  Southwark,  where  they  had  met 
(so  we  are  told)  on  Tuesday,  the  sixteenth  of  April,  in  the  year 
thirteen  hundred  and  eighty-seven. 


THE  SECOND  DAY 
THE  DEPARTURE  FROM  SOUTHWARK 

THE  next  morning  the  Tabard  was  astir  early.    The  Host 
rose  by  daybreak,  and  collected  the  whole  flock  of  pil- 
grims together,  like  a  cock  calling  his  hens  round  him. 
As  soon  as  they  were  all  ready  they  set  out,  riding  at  little  more 
than  a  foot-pace.     Some  of  their  horses  were  but  sorry  beasts, 
and  many  of  the  pilgrims  were  bad  riders.     The  Shipman  had 
much  trouble  in  sticking  on  the  great  carthorse  which  he  had 
hired — a  strange  beast  for  a  sailor  to  be  on.     The  Reeve,  too, 
was  all  behindhand,  mounted  upon  a  dapple-gray  cob  called 
Scot,  on  whose  flanks  his  rusty  sword  dangled  awkwardly. 

Indeed,  they  must  have  appeared  an  oddly  mixed  band,  as 
they  started  along  the  road  toward  Greenwich:  the  lean  Clerk; 
Dame  Alison,  the  red-faced  Wife  of  Bath,  wearing  a  big  round 
hat  as  broad  as  a  shield,  and  sitting  easily  on  her  gentle,  ambling 
nag;  the  Monk  on  a  fat  palfrey  as  brown  as  a  berry,  his  harness 
jingling  as  loudly  as  his  own  chapel-bell;  the  Merchant  very 
upright  on  his  tall  horse;  the  Summoner  carrying  a  large  cake 
as  a  shield,  with  a  garland  on  his  head  as  big  as  those  hung  out 
as  the  sign  of  an  inn ;  and  all  the  rest  in  their  different  costumes, 
riding  anyhow  together.  The  Pardoner  was  singing  lustily  a 
song  beginning  "Come  hither,  love,  to  me,"  and  the  Summoner 
joined  in  with  a  deep  bass  voice  like  a  trumpet.  The  Miller, 
though  he  was  still  a  little  sleepy,  rode  bravely  at  the  head  of 

ii 


12  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

the  procession,  to  lead  them  out  of  town,  gaily  blowing  a  tune 
on  his  bagpipes. 

This  Miller  was  a  large,  brawny  fellow,  with  huge  shoulders, 
like  those  of  a  good  wrestler  and  fighting-man.  He  could  heave 
any  door  off  its  hinges,  however  big,  or  butt  it  open  with  his 
head.  His  beard  was  as  red  as  a  fox's  coat,  and  as  broad  as  a 
spade.  He  had  a  great  wart  on  the  tip  of  his  nose,  wide-open 
nostrils,  and  a  mouth  like  a  furnace.  He  was  a  boastful  talker 
and  ribald  jester,  but  clever  enough  at  stealing  corn  or  getting 
three  times  as  much  as  was  due  to  him.  In  fact,  he  was  a  coarse 
and  cunning  rascal;  but  he  could  play  the  bagpipes  right  well, 
and  his  merry  tunes  and  rough  jokes  made  the  company  start  in 
good  spirits. 

The  pilgrims  rode  on  until  they  came  to  the  Watering  of  St. 
Thomas,  a  place  beside  a  brook  about  two  miles  from  their  start- 
ing-point. Here  the  Host  stopped  his  horse,  and  turned  to  the 
others. 

"Listen  to  me,  sirs,  if  you  please,"  he  cried,  "and  remember 
your  promise  to  obey  me.  If  you  are  still  of  the  same  mind,  let 
us  see  who  is  to  tell  the  first  tale.  If  anyone  refuses  to  do  as  I 
bid  him,  he  must  pay  for  all  that  is  bought  to-day,  as  we  agreed. 
Here  are  straws  of  different  lengths;  you  shall  each  draw  one, 
and  whoever  draws  the  shortest  must  begin  with  the  first  tale. 
Come  near,  my  lady  Prioress,  and  you,  Sir  Clerk,  lay  aside  your 
modesty.  Draw,  every  one  of  you." 

They  drew  as  the  Host  bade  them.  The  shortest  straw  fell  to 
the  Knight,  and  everyone  felt  glad  at  the  result.  He  was  a  very 
brave  and  good  man,  an  honorable  Crusader,  who  ever  since  he 
first  rode  abroad  had  loved  honor  and  chivalry  and  truth.  He 
had  done  his  duty  well  in  his  overlord  the  King's  service,  and  had 


THE  DEPARTURE  FROM  SOUTHWARK  13 

fought  thrice  in  the  lists  for  the  Christian  faith  in  far-off  lands, 
and  in  fifteen  mortal  battles,  winning  fame  throughout  all  Chris- 
tendom. Many  a  time  had  he  been  put  at  the  head  of  the  high 
table  at  feasts,  to  show  in  what  esteem  he  was  held.  Yet,  with 
all  his  valor  and  high  renown,  he  was  as  courteous  and  meek  as 
a  maid,  and  a  very  perfect,  gentle  knight.  It  was  fitting  there- 
fore that  he  should  have  the  place  of  honor,  and  tell  the  first 
tale. 


THE  KNIGHTS  TALE 

PALAMON  AND  ARCITA 

I.— PALAMON  AND  ARCITA  FALL  OUT 

THERE  was  once,  as  the  old  stories  tell  us,  a  noble  duke 
named  Theseus.  He  was  lord  and  governor  of  Athens, 
and  in  his  day  the  greatest  conqueror  under  the  sun.  He 
had  fought  battles  and  wars  without  end,  winning  many  victories 
and  adding  rich  countries  to  his  dominions.  Chief  among  his 
conquests  was  his  defeat  of  the  Amazons  of  Scythia.  He  over- 
came their  army  in  a  great  pitched  battle,  and  took  their  Queen 
Hippolyta  prisoner,  with  her  sister,  the  fair  Emelie. 

"After  this  victory  he  married  Queen  Hippolyta,  amid  great 
feasting  and  revelry.  I  could  tell  you  a  long  tale  of  all  the 
splendid  feasts  that  were  held  at  this  wedding,  or  of  the  great 
thunderstorm  that  broke  over  the  Duke  and  his  bride  as  they 
began  their  journey  home.  But  time  is  short,  and  my  story  is 
long  without  that;  I  must  forbear,  and  not  keep  another  man 
from  having  his  fair  chance  of  winning  the  supper.  So  now  for 
the  tale  of  what  happened  soon  after  the  wedding. 

"The  Duke,  then,  having  taken  Hippolyta  to  wife,  set  out  in 
state  on  the  way  home  with  her  and  her  sister,  full  of  joy  and 
pride  in  his  victory  and  his  marriage,  and  looking  to  meet  with 
rejoicing  everywhere  on  his  journey  to  Athens.  But  as  he  drew 
near  the  city,  he  saw  a  band  of  ladies  clad  in  black  kneeling  in 
the  road,  two  by  two,  weeping  and  wailing  in  a  most  pitiful  man- 

14 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  15 

ner ;  nor  did  they  cease  till  Theseus  reined  in  his  horse  and  spoke 
to  them. 

"  'Who  are  you  that  break  in  upon  my  joyful  homecoming?' 
he  asked.  'Are  you  so  jealous  of  my  success  that  you  try  to  mar 
my  rejoicings  by  your  cries  of  sorrow?  Or  has  any  man  ill-used 
or  harmed  you?  Why  do  you  weep  and  wear  mourning  gar- 
ments? Tell  me  what  wrong  has  been  done  you,  that  I  may 
help  and  avenge  you.' 

"  'My  lord  Duke,'  answered  the  lady  who  seemed  to  be  chief 
among  the  mourners,  'Fortune  has  given  you  victory  and  success. 
We  have  no  grudge  against  the  glory  and  prosperity  that  you 
have  won,  but  we  are  here  to  beg  you  to  pity  our  woe  and  help 
us.  All  of  us  who  thus  beseech  you  were  once  great  ladies,  high 
in  rank  and  honor;  and  here  we  have  awaited  you  these  fourteen 
days  past,  to  pray  your  mercy  on  us.  I  was  wife  of  King 
Capaneus,  who  died  at  the  siege  of  Thebes,  and  all  these  others 
had  great  lords  for  their  husbands,  who  fell  with  him.  Creon 
has  taken  Thebes  and  is  king  of  it,  and  now  in  the  hardness  of 
his  heart  he  will  not  let  the  bodies  of  our  husbands  be  buried, 
but  has  piled  them  in  a  heap  where  they  were  slain  in  battle,  so 
that  they  lie  exposed  for  birds  and  beasts  to  prey  upon.' 

"With  that  she  and  all  the  other  distressed  ladies  threw  them- 
selves on  their  faces  on  the  ground,  and  began  to  weep  once  more. 
'Have  pity  on  us  unhappy  women,'  they  wailed,  'and  let  our 
sorrows  touch  your  heart.' 

"The  gentle  Duke  was  filled  with  pity  when  he  saw  their  grief. 
He  leapt  down  from  his  horse  and  raised  them  up  and  com- 
forted them.  He  swore  a  great  oath,  on  his  knighthood,  to  take 
such  vengeance  upon  the  tyrant  Creon  that  all  Greece  should 
ring  with  it,  and,  while  his  anger  was  still  hot  within  him,  he 


16  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

cut  short  his  return  to  Athens  without  entering  the  city.  There 
and  then  he  set  his  army  in  array  to  march  straight  to  Thebes ; 
and  he  sent  Hippolyta  and  Emelie  and  their  ladies  to  Athens  to 
await  his  return. 

"When  he  arrived  at  Thebes,  with  all  the  flower  of  his  chivalry 
in  his  train,  he  drew  up  his  army  for  battle  in  a  broad  open  space 
near  the  city.  There  was  a  great  fight,  and  Theseus  kiUed  Creon 
in  fair  combat  with  his  own  hand.  The  Thebans  were  utterly 
defeated,  and  their  city  taken  by  assault  and  sacked;  and  then 
the  bodies  of  the  nobles  whom  Creon  had  left  unburied  were 
given  to  the  ladies,  who  buried  them  with  great  ceremony  and 
lamentation.  Theseus  stayed  awhile  near  Thebes,  ravaging  the 
country  and  doing  with  it  as  he  pleased. 

"After  the  great  battle,  the  victorious  soldiers  went  about 
robbing  and  pillaging,  stripping  the  dead  of  their  armor  and 
clothes  and  anything  else  of  value  which  they  could  find.  A 
party  of  these  pillagers  came  upon  the  bodies  of  two  youths, 
very  richly  dressed,  lying  in  the  place  where  the  fight  had  been 
thickest,  and  pierced  through  and  through  with  wounds.  They 
found  that  the  young  men  were  not  quite  dead,  though  grievously 
wounded,  and  they  took  them  to  Theseus,  seeing  from  their  garb 
that  they  were  of  noble  birth. 

"A  herald  skilled  in  blazonry  and  armor  was  sent  for.  He 
announced  that  the  coats  of  arms  of  the  two  captives  showed  them 
to  be  of  the  royal  family  of  Thebes ;  and  very  soon  it  was  found 
that  they  were  Palamon  and  Arcita,  two  cousins,  both  of  the 
royal  house,  the  sons  of  two  sisters. 

"When  Palamon  and  Arcita  were  healed  of  their  wounds,  the 
Duke  sent  them  to  Athens  to  be  kept  in  prison  for  the  rest  of 
their  lives ;  for  he  had  vowed  vengeance  on  Creon's  whole  house, 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  17 

and  would  take  no  ransom  and  show  no  mercy.  So  they  were 
thrown  into  prison,  in  a  strong  tower  at  Athens,  close  to  the 
palace  of  Theseus.  Theseus  himself  after  a  little  time  returned 
home  in  state  as  a  conqueror,  and  reigned  in  joy  and  honor  with 
his  queen  Hippolyta. 

"Several  years  passed,  and  Palamon  and  Arcita  still  lay  un- 
ransomed  in  their  dungeon.  At  length,  however,  one  day 'in 
spring,  the  lady  Emelie,  fairer  than  the  lily  and  fresh  as  May 
flowers,  rose  at  daybreak  to  walk  in  her  garden.  It  was  a  morn- 
ing in  May,  the  month  when  spring  will  not  suffer  anyone  to  lie 
abed  after  the  sun  has  risen.  In  that  bright  sunlight  Emelie's 
beauty  vied  with  the  roses  themselves,  as  she  paced  up  and  down 
gathering  flowers  white  and  red  to  make  a  woven  garland  for 
her  fair  yellow  hair,  which  hung  down  her  back,  braided  in  a 
tress;  and  as  she  walked  she  sang  sweetly. 

"It  happened  that  the  great  tower  of  the  castle  where  Palamon 
and  Arcita  were  confined  joined  the  garden  wall,  so  that  they 
could  see  the  garden  from  their  narrow  window.  That  very 
morning  Palamon  was  awake  with  the  sun,  and  roamed  up  and 
down  the  chamber,  lamenting  that  he  had  ever  been  born,  if  it 
were  only  to  spend  his  life  in  prison. 

"Suddenly  he  heard  a  voice  outside  singing  very  sweetly. 
He  peered  between  the  thick  iron  bars  of  the  window,  and  looked 
out  from  the  gloomy  dungeon  on  to  the  city,  which  lay  below  in 
the  fresh  sunshine,  and  the  pleasant  garden  just  outside  his 
prison.  The  first  thing  he  saw  was  Emelie,  walking  up  and 
down  among  the  flowers.  So  fair  was  she  that  he  fell  in  love 
with  her  at  the  mere  sight.  He  started  back,  and  cried  out  as 
though  he  were  wounded  to  the  heart. 

"The  cry  roused  Arcita,  who  shared  the  same  dungeon.     He 


i8  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

got  up  quickly,  saying:  'Cousin  mine,  what  ails  you,  that 
you  turn  so  pale?  Why  did  you  cry  out?  Be  patient;  we 
must  bear  our  imprisonment  as  well  as  we  can,  for  we  shall 
never  escape.  So  the  stars  ordained  for  us  when  we  were 
born.' 

"  'You  are  wrong,  cousin.  It  was  not  the  hardness  of  our  fate 
that  made  me  cry  out:  I  was  wounded  in  my  heart.  The 
beauty  of  the  lady  whom  I  see  yonder  roaming  in  the  garden  is 
the  cause  of  all  my  woe.  Ah,  how  fair  she  is!  Is  she  a  woman, 
or  can  she  be  some  spirit  in  human  form?' 

"He  thought  that  it  might  be  a  goddess  who  had  taken  the 
form  of  a  mortal  woman,  and  he  began  to  pray  to  Venus,  the 
goddess  of  love,  not  to  mock  them  thus,  but  to  help  them  to 
escape. 

"Then  Arcita,  hearing  his  words,  also  went  to  the  window,  and 
saw  Emelie  walking  in  the  sunshine.  At  the  sight  of  her  his 
heart,  too,  was  wounded  as  sorely  as  Palamon's,  and  with  a  sigh 
he  said:  'I  am  pierced  to  the  heart  by  the  beauty  of  her  I  see 
yonder.  If  I  cannot  win  her  favor,  I  am  naught  but  a  dead 
man.  There  is  no  more  for  me  to  say.' 

"Palamon  looked  at  him  askance,  and  asked,  'Is  this  a  jest,  or 
do  you  speak  in  earnest?' 

"  'Nay,  Palamon,  in  earnest,  by  my  faith,'  answered  Arcita. 
'I  have  no  mind  to  jest  now.' 

"Palamon  knit  his  brows  in  anger.  'It  would  bring  you  no 
great  honor  to  be  false  to  me,'  said  he.  'I  am  your  cousin,  nay, 
your  brother  and  comrade,  and  we  swore  between  ourselves  a 
great  oath  never  till  death  parts  us  to  stand  in  one  another's 
way,  in  love  or  in  anything  else.  You  were  to  help  me,  and  I 
you.  And  now  you  pretend  to  love  this  my  lady,  whom  J  will 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  19 

serve  until  I  die.  You  shall  not  do  so,  false  Arcita!  I  saw  and 
loved  her  first,  and  told  you  of  it  before  ever  you  looked  upon 
her.  You  are  bound  by  your  oath  as  a  knight  to  help  me,  if  it 
lies  in  your  power;  else  you  are  false  to  your  word.' 

"  'You  will  be  false  sooner  than  I,'  answered  Arcita  proudly, 
'and  I  tell  you  it  is  you  who  are  false  now.  I  loved  her  with  a 
true  love  before  ever  you  did.  You  do  not  really  love  her;  you 
do  not  even  know  if  she  be  a  woman  or  a  goddess.  Your  love  is 
the  reverence  that  is  given  to  holy  things,  but  I  love  her  as  men 
should  love,  not  as  they  worship  the  gods.  As  for  our  oath,  you 
know  the  old  saying,  "Who  can  set  a  law  on  lovers?"  Love  is  a 
stronger  power  than  any  oath,  and  all  other  laws  are  daily  broken 
by  it.  But  this  is  idle  talk.  It  is  not  likely  that  you  will  win 
her  favor  any  more  than  I,  for  you  know  full  well  that  you  and 
I  are  doomed  to  prison  for  the  rest  of  our  days.  There  can  be 
no  ransom  and  no  freedom  for  us.  We  are  striving  like  the  dogs 
that  fought  for  a  bone,  and  as  they  were  fighting,  a  kite  came  and 
took  it  away.  Love,  if  you  like,  cousin.  I  love  her  too,  and 
shall  forever.  That  is  all  there  is  to  do.  Here  in  this  prison 
we  must  both  endure,  and  each  of  us  alike  take  his  chance.' 

"But  Palamon  would  not  hear  a  word  of  reason,  and  the  strife 
continued  long  between  them,  as  I  could  show  you  if  I  had  time. 
But  hear  what  came  to  pass  next. 

"There  was  a  good  Duke  named  Pirithous  who  had  been  a 
dear  friend  and  comrade  of  Duke  Theseus  ever  since  they  were 
children.  He  had  known  Arcita  also  when  he  was  at  Thebes, 
and  loved  him  well.  It  happened  that  he  came  about  this  time 
to  Athens,  and  hearing  that  Arcita  was  in  prison,  he  begged 
Theseus  to  set  him  free.  Theseus  could  not  refuse  his  friend  this 
boon,  and  at  length,  after  many  a  prayer,  he  let  Arcita  go  with- 


20  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

out  ransom,  but  only  on  condition  that  he  never  again  came  into 
any  country  ruled  by  the  Athenians,  on  pain  of  death. 

"Arcita  was  told  that  he  would  be  set  free  on  this  condition, 
and  he  accepted  it.  But  it  pleased  him  no  more  than  it  pleased 
Palamon.  'Cousin  Palamon,'  he  said,  'the  victory  is  yours. 
You  are  to  stay  here  near  the  lady  whom  we  both  love,  but  I  may 
never  come  into  any  land  which  Theseus  governs.  Your  prison, 
near  our  lady's  garden,  is  a  paradise,  for  you  can  see  her  perhaps 
every  day;  and  who  knows  but  that  some  unlooked-for  chance 
may  even  fulfil  your  desire  for  you?  But  I  am  exiled,  and  must 
bid  good-by  to  love  and  hope.' 

"So  Arcita  went  away  home  to  Thebes,  free,  but  full  of  sorrow 
and  discontent.  He  spent  all  his  days  in  lamenting  because  he 
could  no  longer  see  Emelie,  and  secretly  sought  some  chance  to 
kill  himself. 

"But  Palamon  in  his  dungeon  at  Athens  could  not  contain  his 
love  in  silence.  All  day  long  he  mourned,  till  the  great  tower 
echoed  again  and  again  with  his  cries.  'Alas!  Arcita,  my  cousin, 
it  is  you  who  have  the  best  of  all  our  strife.  You  can  walk  free 
in  Thebes,  heedless  of  me  and  my  griefs;  and  you  can  gather  an 
army  of  our  folk,  if  it  pleases  you,  and  stir  up  war  against 
Theseus  till  you  win  our  lady  for  your  wife  by  force  of  arms. 
But  I  have  to  linger  on  here  imprisoned  in  this  cage,  with  the 
pains  of  love  added  to  my  other  woe.' 

"Thus  Palamon  increased  his  misery  by  jealousy,  railing 
against  Heaven  and  his  cruel  fate.  Summer  with  its  bright  days 
and  winter's  long  nights  alike  passed  slowly  over  him  as  he  lay 
in  prison. 

"There  I  will  leave  Palamon  for  a  little.  But  tell  me,"  said 
the  Knight,  looking  round  on  the  pilgrims,  "which  of  these  two 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  21 

passionate  lovers,  Palamon  or  Arcita,  do  you  think  is  the  better 
off — Palamon,  who  can  see  his  lady  every  day  when  she  walks  in 
the  garden,  but  must  live  in  prison  and  cannot  reach  her;  or 
Arcita,  who  is  free  and  may  do  as  he  wishes  at  Thebes,  but  can- 
not even  see  Emelie?" 


II.— THE  MEETING  IN  THE  WOOD 

"When  Arcita  had  gone  to  Thebes,  for  many  a  day  he  mourned 
as  if  he  would  never  again  see  his  lady.  He  grew  as  thin  as  the 
shaft  of  an  arrow;  his  cheeks  became  pale,  his  eyes  hollow,  and 
he  was  forever  wandering  alone,  weeping  all  night  in  the  deep- 
est misery  and  despair. 

"After  a  year  or  more  of  this  torment,  he  was  so  changed  in 
appearance  that  it  would  have  been  hard  even  for  his  friends  to 
know  him.  His  spirits  were  so  feeble  and  low  from  brooding 
on  his  hopeless  love  that  he  did  not  think  of  trying  to  go  back  to 
Athens.  But  one  night  in  a  dream  he  saw  the  god  Mercury,  who 
bade  him  be  merry,  saying:  'You  shall  go  to  Athens.  It  is 
fated  that  there  you  shall  find  an  end  to  your  woe.' 

"Arcita  woke  with  a  start  at  these  words.  (I  will  go  back,' 
he  said,  'and  see  my  lady  again,  even  if  I  die  for  it.' 

"He  caught  at  a  mirror  that  lay  near  his  hand,  and  saw  how  his 
face  was  changed  by  grief.  He  thought  that  perhaps  if  he  bore 
himself  as  one  of  low  rank  he  might  not  be  known  at  Athens,  and 
he  made  up  his  mind  to  carry  out  the  words  of  the  god. 

"He  clad  himself  as  a  poor  laborer,  and  in  this  disguise  he 
journeyed  back  to  Athens,  alone  except  for  one  faithful  squire 
who  knew  all  his  secrets,  and  was  also  disguised.  At  Athens 
he  went  up  to  the  Court  one  day  and  offered  himself  at  the  gate 


22  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

for  service  under  the  name  of  Philostratus.  It  happened  that 
the  lady  Emelie's  chamberlain  needed  a  man  such  as  Arcita 
seemed  to  be,  and  he  gave  him  the  post. 

"Arcita  was  young  and  strong,  as  well  as  prudent  and  wise. 
He  could  hew  wood  or  draw  water,  or  do  anything  else  that 
was  asked  of  him.  He  remained  a  year  or  two  in  this  sort  of 
service,  and  he  was  so  gentle  and  well-behaved  that  men  were 
amazed  at  his  good  manners,  and  his  fame  went  throughout  the 
Court  of  Theseus.  They  said  it  would  be  but  fitting  if  the  Duke 
were  to  raise  him  in  station,  and  put  him  to  more  honorable 
service. 

"This  at  length  came  to  pass.  Theseus  made  him  one  of  his 
own  squires  of  the  bedchamber,  and  gave  him  money  to  keep  up 
his  new  rank  honorably,  though  all  this  time  Arcita  had  also  had 
money  brought  him  secretly  from  Thebes  year  by  year,  so  that  he 
could  make  a  brave  show  whatever  post  he  held.  And  now  he 
had  succeeded  in  some  part  of  his  desire,  for  he  was  often  near  or 
in  the  presence  of  the  fair  Emelie,  though  he  dared  not  tell  his 
true  name  and  rank. 

"Meanwhile,  seven  years  passed,  and  Palamon  was  still  in 
prison,  enduring  more  woe  than  I  can  tell.  But  at  length  he 
contrived  to  obtain  some  poison  from  a  friend  outside  the  prison. 
He  mixed  it  with  wine,  and  gave  it  to  his  gaoler  late  in  the  night 
of  the  third  of  May.  The  gaoler  drank  the  draught,  and  was 
soon  sent  fast  asleep  by  the  poison  in  it;  no  noise  and  no  shaking 
could  rouse  him.  Then  Palamon  fled  out  of  the  prison  as  fast 
as  he  could,  taking  the  keys  from  the  sleeping  man's  girdle.  He 
wished  to  escape  to  Thebes,  and  rouse  his  friends  to  make  war  on 
Theseus,  so  that  he  might  either  win  Emelie  for  his  wife,  or  die 
fighting. 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  23 

"When  he  had  gone  a  little  way  from  the  city,  he  found  a  thick 
grove  of  trees,  where  he  hid.  It  was  growing  light,  and  he 
wished  to  travel  only  by  night,  for  fear  of  being  seen.  So  he  lay 
down  in  the  brushwood  to  rest  himself  for  the  day. 

"The  busy  lark  was  hailing  the  gray  dawn  with  her  song. 
The  fiery  sun  rose  up  bright,  and  all  the  east  was  laughing  in  his 
light,  as  he  dried  the  silver  dewdrops  on  the  trees  with  his  rays ; 
and  Arcita,  now  chief  squire  to  Theseus,  rose  and  looked  out 
from  his  chamber  window  on  the  merry  morning.  It  was 
springtime,  the  fourth  of  May,  and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  ride 
out  in  the  early  sunshine  to  do  honor  to  the  spring,  as  the  custom 
is. 

"He  mounted  his  courser  and  rode  out  of  the  city,  till  he  came 
by  chance  to  the  grove  where  Palamon  lay  hid.  By  the  way  he 
picked  flowers,  with  woodbine  and  hawthorn  leaves,  to  make  a 
garland;  and  loudly  he  sang  beneath  the  rising  sun,  'O  May, 
fair  fresh  May,  welcome  art  thou,  with  all  thy  green  and  all  thy 
flowers !  Ah,  if  thou  didst  but  bring  me  fresh  hope  I' 

"He  dismounted  and  strode  on  into  the  grove,  wandering  up 
and  down  a  little  path,  hard  by  where  Palamon  lay  hid  in  the 
brushwood.  Palamon  saw  him,  but  did  not  know  him,  so  much 
had  his  cousin  been  changed  by  the  long  months  of  sorrow  at 
Thebes.  He  lay  quiet,  therefore,  behind  a  bush.  'Fields  have 
eyes,  and  the  wood  has  ears,'  says  the  proverb,  and  men  often  meet 
in  unexpected  ways. 

"After  a  little  Arcita  fell  to  musing,  instead  of  rejoicing 
aloud.  Thus  do  lovers  change  quickly,  their  hopes  rising  up 
and  down  like  a  bucket  in  a  well.  He  sat  down  and  began 
once  more  to  lament.  'Alas  for  the  day  that  I  was  born!  The 
gods  are  the  enemies  of  Thebes,  and  the  royal  city  is  fallen ;  and 


24  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

here  am  I,  Arcita,  of  the  race  of  Cadmus  and  Amphion,  serving 
my  mortal  enemy  Theseus.  Once  I  was  Arcita;  now  I  am 
Philostratus,  the  Duke's  squire.  Ah,  fell  Mars  and  Juno  have 
destroyed  our  house!  And  worse  than  all  this  evil  that  has 
come  upon  our  race,  Love  has  pierced  my  heart  through  with 
his  burning,  as  if  Fate  meant  to  kill  me  altogether.  It  is  you 
who  have  slain  me  with  your  eyes,  Lady  Emelie!  I  would  care 
for  nothing  else,  if  only  I  could  do  your  pleasure.' 

"With  that  he  was  silent  again.  But  when  Palamon  heard 
what  he  was  saying,  he  felt  as  though  a  cold  sword  had  been 
thrust  into  his  heart.  All  his  old  anger  against  Arcita  started 
up  again  and  mastered  him.  He  leapt  like  a  madman  from 
his  hiding-place,  and  rushed  out  with  his  face  all  pale,  crying, 
'Arcita,  false  traitor!  you  that  talk  of  your  love  for  Emelie, 
now  you  are  caught — you  through  whom  I  suffer  all  this  pain 
and  woe!  You  are  of  the  same  blood  as  I;  you  have  sworn  an 
oath  to  me — all  this  I  said  to  you  before.  You  were  untrue  to 
me,  and  now  you  are  untrue  to  your  new  master  Theseus,  chang- 
ing your  name  to  get  the  better  of  me  and  him.  You  shall  not 
love  my  lady  Emelie,  but  I  alone  will,  and  no  other.  I  am 
Palamon,  your  mortal  foe.  Though  I  have  no  weapon  here— 
for  it  is  but  a  little  time  since  I  escaped  from  prison — you  shall 
none  the  less  die  by  my  hand,  or  give  up  your  love  for  Emelie. 
Choose  which  you  will.  You  shall  not  escape.' 

'When  Arcita  heard  him  speak,  he  knew  who  he  was,  and 
drew  his  sword,  fierce  as  a  lion.  'By  my  faith,'  cried  he,  'were 
you  not  ill  and  mad  for  love  and  unarmed,  I  swear  you  should 
never  go  from  this  place  alive!  I  would  kill  you  with  my 
own  hand.  As  for  your  talk  of  my  oath  to  you,  I  defy  it.  Look 
you,  you  madman,  love  is  free,  and  I  will  love  Emelie  for  all 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  25 

that  you  can  do.  But  since  you  are  a  knight  of  gentle  birth 
and  fair  fame,  and  are  ready  to  fight  for  her,  hear  what  I  will 
do.  To-night  I  will  bring  you  meat  and  drink;  and  to-morrow 
— I  swear  it  upon  my  knighthood — I  will  come  hither  alone  at 
this  same  time,  with  arms  for  you.  You  shall  put  on  the  armor, 
and  we  will  fight  here  in  this  wood  for  the  lady  Emelie.  If 
you  win  the  victory  and  slay  me,  you  may  have  her.' 

"  *I  grant  it,'  Palamon  answered. 

"So  the  cousins  parted,  and  Arcita  went  back  to  Athens,  while 
Palamon  hid  himself  again. 

"On  the  morrow,  ere  it  was  light,  Arcita  took  two  horses  and 
a  spare  suit  of  arms,  and  went  out  to  the  wood.  He  met  Pala- 
mon at  the  same  time  and  place  as  on  the  day  before.  When 
they  met,  their  faces  changed  color,  as  a  huntsman's  does  when 
he  hears  the  lion  rushing  on  him  through  the  bushes,  and  thinks, 
'Here  comes  my  enemy;  he  or  I  must  die.' 

"They  said  not  a  word,  not  even  ''Good-day,'  but  each  helped 
the  other  to  put  on  his  armor,  as  friendly  as  if  they  had  been 
brothers.  Then  they  fell  to  fighting.  So  fierce  was  their  rage 
against  one  another  that  you  might  fancy,  to  see  them,  that  Pala- 
mon was  a  forest  lion  and  Arcita  a  cruel  tiger.  They  fought  till 
they  were  ankle-deep  in  blood.  And  there  let  us  leave  them 
while  we  go  back  to  Theseus  and  the  lady  Emelie. 

"The  judgments  of  God  are  carried  out  surely  and  certainly 
over  all  the  earth.  So  strong  is  His  word,  that  though  the  whole 
world  vowed  that  a  thing  should  not  happen,  it  would  none  the 
less  come  to  pass.  Thus  it  was  ordained  that  the  great  Duke 
Theseus  should  desire  to  hunt  that  day  in  that  very  wood,  it 
being  his  custom  to  go  a-hunting  every  morning  in  spring. 

"The  young  day  was  clear  and  fine  when  Theseus,  with  Hip- 


&6  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

polyta,  his  fair  Queen,  and  Emelie,  clad  all  in  green,  rode  out 
royally  to  hunt  They  took  their  way  to  the  grove,  where  men 
said  there  was  a  hart,  and  they  expected  to  find  good  sport  that 
fine  spring  morning.  Suddenly  Theseus  shaded  his  eyes  from 
the  bright  sun;  a  little  way  off  he  had  caught  sight  of  Palamon 
and  Arcita,  fighting  furiously  as  two  wild  boars.  Their  gleam- 
ing swords  flashed  to  and  fro  so  terribly  that  it  seemed  as  if  their 
lightest  blow  would  fell  an  oak. 

"The  Duke  could  not  see  clearly  who  they  were,  but  he  spurred 
his  horse  forward  and  went  between  them  with  his  sword  drawn. 

"  'HoidP  he  cried.  'No  more  of  this,  or  you  shall  lose  your 
heads.  Who  are  you,  and  why  are  you  fighting  here?' 

"PaKamon  answered  quickly.  'Sire,  what  need  of  many  words 
is  there?  We  have  both  deserved  death.  We  are  two  poor 
wretches  who  are  weary  of  our  lives.  Have  no  mercy  on  us. 
Slay  me  first,  if  it  is  your  will,  but  slay  my  enemy  as  well ;  or 
slay  him  before  me  if  you  wish.'  Then  he  told  Theseus  who 
they  wereo  'This  is  your  deadly  foe — this  is  Arcita,  who  was 
banished  from  your  land,  and  is  now  by  deceit  your  squire, 
named  Philostratus ;  I  am  woeful  Palamon,  who  have  broken 
out  from  the  prison  into  which  you  cast  me.  He  and  I  love  the 
Lady  Emelie.  I  am  ready  to  die  now  in  her  sight,  and  so  I  ask 
you  to  judge  and  condemn  me.  But  I  pray  you  if  you  kill  me, 
kill  Arcita  also,  for  we  both  deserve  death.' 

"  'Out  of  your  own  mouths  you  are  condemned,'  said  the  Duke. 
Tou  shall  both  die.' 

"Thereat  the  Queen  Hippolyta  and  Emelie  and  all  the  ladies 
of  their  company  began  to  weep  for  pity.  They  saw  the  wounds 
which  the  lovers  had  given  one  another,  and  thought  it  sad  thai 
young  men  so  comely  and  so  nobly  born  should  die  only  for 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  27 

loving  so  truly.  They  fell  down  on  their  knees  before  Theseus, 
weeping  and  crying,  'Have  pity,  great  lord,'  and  they  would 
have  kissed  his  feet  as  he  stood  there,  until  he  was  moved  to 
mercy.  But  pity  soon  finds  a  way  into  noble  hearts,  and  the 
first  anger  of  Theseus  was  speedily  softened.  He  said  to  him- 
self that  every  man  in  love  tries  to  help  himself,  if  he  can,  even 
so  far  as  to  break  out  of  prison;  and  his  heart  was  touched  when 
he  sawT  the  women  weeping  before  him.  'Shame  upon  a  lord,' 
thought  he,  'who  will  have  no  mercy,  but  is  as  cruel  as  a  lion 
both  in  word  and  in  deed,  and  stands  by  his  first  judgment,  how- 
ever harsh  it  be.' 

"He  looked  up  with  gentle  eyes.  What  a  tyrant  is  this  god 
of  love!'  he  said,  smiling.  'He  can  do  with  every  heart  as  he 
pleases.  See  how  he  has  wrought  with  Palamon  and  Arcita, 
and  how,  to  crown  it  all,  Emelie  has  heard  no  more  of  their  love 
than  a  cuckoo.  I  know  his  power  well,  and  therefore  I  am 
willing  to  forgive  them  the  wrong  they  have  done,  since  my 
Queen  and  her  dear  sister  ask  it.  Sirs,  you  must  both  swear  to 
me  never  more  to  be  at  enmity  with  me  or  make  war  upon  my 
country,  but  to  be  my  friend  in  everything.' 

"Palamon  and  Arcita  took  a  solemn  oath  as  he  bade  them. 

"  'Listen,  then,'  the  Duke  went  on,  'and  hear  what  further 
you  must  do.  Doubtless  you  are  both  worthy  in  lineage  to 
marry  Emelie;  but  both  of  you  cannot  do  so,  and  you  will  not 
agree  about  it.  One  of  you  must  lose  her,  and  put  up  with  the 
loss  as  best  he  may;  and  the  matter  shall  be  settled  in  this  way: — 
Both  of  you  shall  go  where  you  please  for  fifty  weeks.  At  the 
end  of  that  time  you  must  return,  each  with  a  hundred  knights 
armed  for  the  lists.  There  shall  be  a  great  tournament  between 
you  and  the  knights  you  bring  on  each  side,  and  I  swear  to  you 


28  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

by  my  troth  as  a  knight,  that  whosoever  of  you  with  his  hundred 
men  shall  slay  the  other  or  drive  him  out  of  the  lists  shall  wed  the 
Lady  Emelie.  The  lists  shall  be  held  here  in  Athens.  If  you 
think  this  is  well,  say  so.' 

"Palamon  looked  glad,  and  Arcita  sprang  up  with  joy  on 
hearing  these  words.  They  readily  agreed  to  the  conditions, 
and  went  down  on  their  knees  to  Theseus,  and  thanked  him  with 
all  their  heart  and  might. 

"Thus  with  good  hope  and  blithe  hearts  they  took  their  leave, 
and  rode  away  from  Athens  to  rouse  their  friends  and  gather 
'tach  a  hundred  knights  for  the  tournament." 


III.— THE  ANSWER  OF  THE  GODS 

"You  would  think  me  careless  and  forgetful,"  the  knight  went 
on,  "if  I  did  not  tell  you  something  of  the  lists  or  theater  that 
Theseus  caused  to  be  made  ready  for  the  tournament.  It  was 
the  most  wonderful  theater,  I  should  think,  that  ever  was  seen, 
and  the  Duke  summoned  all  the  most  skilful  workmen  and 
architects  in  the  land  to  aid  in  building  it.  It  was  a  mile  round, 
with  stone  walls,  outside  which  ran  a  ditch.  Inside  for  sixty 
paces  all  round  there  rose  up  tiers  of  seats  for  the  people  to  sit 
on,  raised  one  above  the  other,  so  that  no  man  could  prevent  any- 
one else  from  seeing. 

"At  the  east  end  of  the  lists  was  a  great  gate  of  white  marble, 
with  another  gate  like  it  opposite  at  the  west  end.  Above  the 
eastern  gate  was  built  a  shrine  or  little  temple,  with  an  altar  to 
Venus,  the  goddess  of  love.  Over  the  western  gate  was  one 
dedicated  to  Mars;  and  Diana  had  a  shrine  of  white  alabaster 
and  red  coral  on  the  north  side  of  the  theater  in  a  turret  on  the 


' 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  29 

wall.  These  temples  were  filled  with  splendid  pictures  and 
statues  in  honor  of  the  gods  to  whom  they  were  sacred. 

"In  the  temple  of  Venus  were  paintings  of  all  the  passions 
which  love  may  rouse,  and  of  Cithaeron,  the  mount  sacred  to 
the  goddess,  and  of  the  garden  of  love,  which  has  Idleness  for 
its  porter.  Here,  too,  were  shown  the  heroes  who  had  met  their 
death  through  love:  Hercules,  who  was  slain  by  his  wife;  Nar- 
cissus, who  becarDe  a  flower;  Medea,  who  killed  her  husband 
Jason.  And  there  was  a  statue  of  the  goddess  herself,  rising 
from  the  foam  of  the  sea  amid  the  glittering  green  waves,  a  gar- 
land of  fresh  roses  upon  her  head,  and  doves  fluttering  round 
her.  Before  her  stood  her  son  Cupid,  with  wings  on  his  shoul- 
ders; he  carried  his  bow  and  bright  keen  arrows,  but  his  eyes 
were  blinded. 

"On  the  wall  of  the  temple  of  Mars,  the  red  god  of  war,  there 
was  painted  first  of  all  a  forest,  wherein  dwelt  neither  man  nor 
beast;  it  was  filled  with  old  gnarled  trees,  through  which  the 
wind  seemed  almost  to  sigh  and  rumble  and  tear  at  the  branches. 
Down  below,  at  the  foot  of  a  hill,  was  shown  the  likeness  of  a 
temple  of  Mars,  wrought  in  burnished  steel.  The  entrance  was 
long  and  narrow  and  gloomy,  and  there  was  no  light  within, 
except  what  came  in  from  the  north,  past  great  doors  of  iron 
and  adamant;  there  were  no  windows,  and  the  place  seemed  full 
of  a  sound  of  moaning.  In  this  temple  you  could  see  the  be- 
ginnings of  all  manner  of  murders  and  deaths  such  as  war  be- 
gets, and  of  anger  and  fear:  here  a  man  smiling  falsely,  with  a 
knife  hidden  under  his  cloak,  ready  to  stab ;  here  a  stable  burn- 
ing, and  the  black  smoke  rising  up  from  it;  there  a  man  mur- 
dered in  his  bed  by  treachery;  there,  again,  one  slain  by  his  own 
hand;  in  another  place,  open  war.  In  the  midst  Mischance 


30  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

was  painted  with  lowering  face,  and  Madness,  laughing  in  his 
rage,  and  many  another  terrible  scene  of  battle  and  violence. 
There,  too,  were  painted  the  craftsmen  who  supply  the  arms 
of  warfare — the  smiths,  the  armorer,  and  the  like.  Above  all 
sat  Conquest  in  a  tower,  a  sharp  sword  hanging  over  his  head 
by  a  single  slender  thread;  and  close  by  were  shown  the  deaths 
of  famous  conquerors.  A  statue  of  Mars  himself  stood  in  a 
chariot,  armed,  and  grim  to  look  upon.  Before  him  was  a  red- 
eyed  wolf  devouring  a  man. 

"Scenes  of  the  chase  were  painted  in  Diana's  temple,  for  she 
was  the  goddess  of  hunters  as  well  as  of  all  those  who  would  not 
wed.  Here  you  might  see  Callisto,  who  was  turned  into  the 
constellation  called  the  Bear;  Actaeon  torn  in  pieces  by  his  own 
hounds  for  spying  on  Diana;  Atalanta  hunting  the  wild  boar; 
Daphne  changed  into  a  laurel,  and  many  another.  The  god- 
dess was  shown  riding  a  hart,  her  little  hounds  playing  round 
her;  and  beneath  was  a  moon,  almost  at  the  full,  ready  to  wane. 
Her  statue  was  clad  all  in  green,  and  in  her  hand  she  held  a  bow 
and  arrows. 

"Thus  Theseus  built  the  lists,  and  these  were  the  temples  set 
up  in  them. 

"The  day  at  last  came  round  when  Palamon  and  Arcita  were 
to  return  with  their  knights,  and  fulfill  their  promise  to  the  Duke. 
Both  of  them  came  in  good  time,  each  bringing  his  hundred  men, 
well-armed  and  equipped,  two  companies  as  noble  as  you  could 
wish  to  see. 

"The  chief  of  Palamon's  knights  was  Lycurgus  himself,  the 
great  King  of  Thrace.  His  beard  was  black,  and  his  eyes  glowed 
yellow  and  red.  Black  also  was  his  hair,  hanging  all  rough 
and  unkempt  over  his  forehead,  but  combed  out  behind  on  his 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  31 

broad  shoulders.  On  his  head  he  wore  a  massy  ring  of  gold, 
set  with  fine  rubies  and  diamonds.  Over  his  arm&T,  instead  of 
a  coat  of  arms,  hung  a  bear's  skin,  coal  black  and  very  old,  with 
yellow  claws.  He  rode  in  a  chariot  of  gold  drawn  by  four 
white  bulls.  Alongside  ran  a  score  or  more  of  huge  white 
hounds,  wearing  golden  collars ;  with  these  hounds  he  was  wont 
to  go  lion-hunting. 

"In  the  train  of  Arcita,  it  is  said,  came  Emetreus,  King  of 
India,  riding  on  a  bay  steed  trapped  in  steel,  and  covered  all 
over  with  cloth  of  gold,  embroidered  with  a  pattern;  his  saddle 
also  was  of  pure  beaten  gold.  His  coat  of  arms  was  of  rich 
silk,  set  with  great  round  white  pearls.  On  his  shoulder  he  wore 
a  cloak  studded  thick  with  rubies  which  sparkled  red  as  fire, 
A  wreath  of  fresh  green  laurels  was  upon  his  curled  yellow  hair, 
which  shone  like  the  sun.  His  eyes  were  bright,  his  face  ruddy, 
and  he  had  the  look  of  a  young  lion.  He  was  about  five-and- 
twenty  years  of  age,  and  his  beard  was  just  beginning  to  spring. 
When  he  spoke,  his  voice  sounded  like  a  trumpet  thundering. 
A  tame  eagle,  white  as  a  lily,  sat  on  his  hand,  and  all  round  him 
ran  tame  lions  and  leopards. 

"In  this  wise,  about  nine  o'clock  on  a  Sunday  morning,  these 
lords  rode  into  the  city  of  Athens.  Theseus  lodged  them  in  the 
palaces  of  the  town,  and  made  great  feasts  in  their  honor,  and 
did  everything  which  can  be  imagined  for  their  entertainment. 

"That  Sunday  night,  two  hours  or  so  before  dawn,  just  at  the 
time  which  the  astrologers  hold  sacred  to  the  goddess  of  love, 
Palamon  heard  the  lark  singing  outside  his  chamber.  He  rose 
up  and  went  to  the  temple  of  Venus  to  pay  honor  to  her.  Down 
he  knelt,  and  prayed  with  humble  heart. 

"  'Fairest  of  the  fair,  Lady  Venus,'  he  said,  'have  pity  on  my 


32  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

bitter  tears.  Suffer  me  to  win  my  lady,  Emelie,  or  let  Arcita 
kill  me  outright  in  the  tournament.  Give  me  my  love,  and  I 
will  ever  more  offer  sacrifice  to  you.  I  care  nothing  for  my  life, 
if  I  cannot  win  Emelie.  That  is  all  my  prayer:  only  give  me 
my  love,  Lady  Venus.' 

"Then  he  offered  a  sacrifice  to  the  goddess,  and  looked  to  hear 
an  answer  from  her.  Long  did  he  wait,  till  at  length  the  statue 
of  Venus  which  was  in  the  shrine  trembled  all  over,  and  seemed 
to  make  a  sign  to  him ;  whereat  he  thought  that  his  boon  would 
surely  be  granted,  even  though  it  might  be  after  some  delay. 

"When  the  sun  rose,  up  rose  the  fair  Emelie,  and  went  to  the 
temple  of  Diana  with  her  maidens,  who  bore  incense  and  fire 
and  horns  filled  with  mead,  to  carry  out  the  rites  of  the  shrine. 
She  purified  herself  to  offer  sacrifice,  and  loosened  her  bright 
hair  and  set  upon  it  a  garland  of  oak-leaves.  Then  she  prayed 
to  Diana: 

"  'Goddess  of  the  green  woods,  by  whom  heaven  and  earth 
and  sea  are  seen,  queen  of  the  dark  realms  of  Pluto,  goddess  of 
maidens,  you  know  that  I  long  to  serve  you  all  my  life  and  wed 
no  man.  Help  me  now,  lady.  Send  love  and  peace  between 
Palamon  and  Arcita,  who  love  me  so  dearly;  turn  their  hearts 
away  from  me,  and  let  their  desires  be  quenched.  Or  if  my 
destiny  be  so  shaped  that  I  must  needs  have  one  of  the  two,  give 
me  to  him  that  most  desires  me.' 

"There  were  two  fires  on  the  altar  in  the  temple,  which  burnt 
up  clearly  while  the  Lady  Emelie  prayed.  But  suddenly  she 
saw  a  strange  sight.  One  of  the  fires  died  down,  and  blazed 
up  again;  then  the  other  fire  died  out  altogether.  As  it  went 
out,  there  was  a  whistling  sound,  as  of  wet  wood  in  the  flames, 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  33 

and  at  the  ends  of  the  branches  there  ran  out  drops  which  seemed 
to  be  blood. 

"Emelie  was  filled  with  fear  at  the  sight,  and  began  to  weep, 
not  knowing  what  the  sign  meant.  Suddenly  the  goddess  Diana 
appeared,  clad  as  a  huntress,  her  bow  in  her  hand,  and  spoke  to 
her:  'Daughter,  cease  from  your  sorrow.  Among  the  gods 
on  high  it  is  decreed  that  you  shall  be  wedded  to  one  of  those 
two  who  have  endured  so  much  for  your  sake;  but  to  which  of 
them  you  shall  be  given  I  may  not  tell  you.  Farewell,  for  I  may 
stay  no  longer.  These  fires  burning  on  my  altar  shall  be  a  sign 
to  you  of  what  will  befall.' 

"With  that,  the  arrows  in  the  goddess's  quiver  clattered  and 
rang,  and  she  vanished  from  sight.  But  Emelie  was  amazed, 
and  knew  not  what  would  happen.  What  means  all  this?'  she 
cried.  'O  Lady  Diana,  I  am  in  your  power.'  And  with  that 
she  went  home,  troubled  in  her  heart  about  what  she  had  seen. 

"An  hour  afterwards,  at  the  time  which  is  sacred  to  the  god 
Mars,  Arcita  also  was  for  doing  sacrifice.  He  turned  his  steps 
towards  the  temple  of  the  terrible  god  of  war,  and  prayed  there 
after  he  had  performed  all  due  rites. 

"  'Strong  god,  holding  in  your  hand  power  over  all  strife  on 
earth,  giving  victory  or  defeat  at  your  will,  accept  my  sacrifice 
if  I  be  deserving.  I  am  young  and  unwise,  maybe,  but  yet  I 
have  had  more  sorrow  in  my  love  than  any  living  man.  She  for 
whom  I  endure  all  this  woe  cares  not  at  all  for  me.  Yet  I  may 
win  her  by  my  might  in  the  tournament,  though  I  know  that 
without  your  aid  my  strength  is  of  no  avail.  Help  me,  then, 
lord  of  battles,  and  grant  that  I  may  have  the  victory.  Let  the 
toil  in  the  fight  be  mine,  and  yours  the  glory,  for  I  will  ever  pay 


34  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

chief  honor  to  you,  and  hang  my  armor  for  an  offering  in  your 
temple.     Have  pity  on  me,  and  give  me  victory.' 

"His  prayer  ceased.  The  rings  hanging  on  the  temple  doors 
clanged,  and  the  doors  themselves  clashed  together.  Fear  and 
wonder  fell  on  Arcita  at  the  sound.  Then  he  saw  the  fires  on 
the  altar  flaming  brightly,  lighting  up  all  the  temple,  and  a 
sweet  smell  arose  from  the  ground.  He  lifted  up  his  hand,  and 
cast  more  incense  into  the  flames.  At  length  the  armor  on  the 
statue  of  Mars  began  to  shake  with  a  sound  of  ringing  metal,  and 
he  heard  a  murmur,  low  and  dim,  whispering  '  Victory  I' 

"Then  Arcita  gave  honor  and  glory  to  the  god  of  war,  know- 
ing that  his  prayer  was  answered;  and  he  went  home  to  his  lodg- 
ing full  of  joy  and  hope,  as  glad  as  a  bird  in  the  sunshine. 

"But  on  Olympus,  the  abode  of  the  gods,  there  was  great 
strife  between  Venus  and  Mars  about  this  matter,  for  each  of 
them  had  promised  victory,  the  one  to  Palamon,  the  other  to 
Arcita.  Jupiter,  king  of  the  gods,  could  not  check  the  dispute 
till  Saturn,  the  father  of  them  all,  calmed  them  with  his  words. 

"  'Daughter  Venus/  said  he,  Veep  no  more.  In  my  power 
lies  the  death  that  is  met  in  the  pale  sea.  I  am  lord  of  the 
prison  and  the  dungeon,  strangling  and  hanging,  poison  and 
murder  and  rebellions.  Mine  it  is  to  take  vengeance,  and 
punish.  I  will  see  to  it  that  Palamon,  your  own  knight,  shall  in 
the  end  win  his  lady;  yet  Mars  shall  help  his  knight  to  success 
in  the  tournament,  and  so  be  satisfied.  Between  you  two  there 
must  be  peace.' 

"Now  I  will  leave  the  gods  and  the  prayers  that  were  offered 
to  them,  and  tell  you  as  plainly  as  I  can  the  end  of  all  that  I 
set  out  to  relate." 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  35 

IV.— THE  TOURNAMENT 

"There  was  high  revelry  among  the  people  in  Athens  that 
Monday.  All  through  the  bright  spring  day,  from  dawn  till 
eve,  they  danced  and  feasted.  But  they  went  to  bed  early  at 
night,  so  as  to  rise  betimes  to  see  the  great  fight  on  the  morrow. 

"In  the  morning,  when  day  began  to  break,  the  inns  and 
streets  began  very  early  to  be  filled  with  the  noise  and  clatter- 
ing of  horses  and  harness.  Everywhere  there  could  be  seen 
strange,  rich,  emblazoned  armor,  bright  shields  and  trappings, 
helmets  and  mail  of  gold,  and  golden  coats  of  arms ;  great  lords 
on  their  chargers,  the  steeds  pawing  the  ground  and  champing 
their  bits;  squires  buckling  on  helmets,  lacing  up  breastplates, 
fitting  straps  to  shields;  armorers,  yeomen  on  foot,  pipers, 
trumpeters,  drummers — the  whole  city  was  crowded  with  all 
manner  of  peoples  and  sights.  They  stood  in  little  groups  here 
and  there,  and  all  their  talk  ran  on  the  wonderful  tournament, 
some  saying  Palamon  would  win,  others  Arcita;  some  thought 
of  the  might  of  Emetreus,  others  feared  the  black-bearded  King 
of  Thrace,  whose  battle-axe  alone,  so  it  was  said,  was  twenty 
pounds  in  weight. 

"The  turmoil  roused  Theseus  in  good  time,  but  he  waited  till 
the  knights  had  all  assembled  at  his  palace.  Then  he  took  his 
place  at  a  window,  seated  on  a  throne  where  the  crowd  could 
see  him.  A  herald  stood  forth  on  a  platform  and  proclaimed 
silence ;  when  all  the  people  were  still,  he  cried  the  Duke's  com- 
mands : 

"  'The  great  Duke  has  in  his  high  discretion  considered  that 
it  would  waste  noble  blood  to  let  this  tournament  be  like  deadly 
warfare.  These,  therefore,  are  the  rules  of  battle  which  he  or- 


36  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

ders:  No  man,  on  pain  of  death,  shall  bring  into  the  lists  a 
knife,  or  a  bow  and  arrows,  or  a  pole-axe,  or  a  short  sword  for 
stabbing.  No  man  shall  ride  more  than  one  course  with  the 
spear  against  his  opponent.  After  that  he  is  to  thrust  on  foot,  if 
he  wishes  to  go  on  fighting.  He  who  is  overcome  shall  be  not 
slain,  but  taken  prisoner,  and  brought  to  the  stakes  which  will  be 
set  on  either  side;  there  he  shall  wait  till  the  end  of  the  tourna- 
ment. If  it  so  happens  that  the  leader  on  either  side  be  taken  or 
slain,  the  tournament  shall  cease  thereat.  God  speed  you!  Go 
forth,  and  lay  on  fast!  Fight  your  fill  with  sword  and  mace. 
This  is  the  Duke's  command.' 

"A  loud  cry  went  up  from  all  the  people — 'God  save  the  good 
Duke,  who  will  not  waste  noble  lives!'  Blasts  were  blown  upon 
the  trumpets,  and  the  whole  company  rode  to  the  lists  in  state. 
Theseus  sat  on  the  ducal  throne,  and  round  him  were  Hippolyta 
and  Emelie  and  their  ladies  according  to  their  degree.  Then 
from  the  west,  by  the  gate  whereon  stood  the  temple  of  Mars, 
Arcita  rode  in  with  his  train,  showing  a  red  banner.  On  the 
east,  under  Venus's  shrine,  came  Palamon,  with  a  white  banner, 
followed  by  all  his  chivalry.  They  ranged  themselves  in  two 
ranks,  when  their  names  and  titles  had  first  been  read  out. 

"  'Do  now  your  duty,  proud  young  knights,'  proclaimed  the 
herald. 

"The  gates  were  shut,  the  trumpets  sounded,  the  herald  rode 
out  of  the  lists,  and  the  tournament  began. 

"Now  was  the  time  to  see  who  was  the  best  at  jousting  and 
riding.  Shafts  were  shivering  on  stout  shields,  spears  bristling 
twenty  feet  or  more  in  length,  swords  gleaming  and  crashing 
through  helmets  and  armor.  Now  a  horse  would  fall,  and  his 
rider  roll  underfoot  like  a  ball ;  now  he  leaps  up  and  fights  on 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  37 

foot  with  his  mace.  Now  one  is  overcome,  and  led  to  the  stake 
to  await  the  end  of  the  tourney;  then  another  is  captured  from 
the  opposite  side,  so  that  they  are  even  again. 

"After  a  time  a  short  space  was  given  them  for  rest,  and  then 
they  fell  to  again.  Arcita  and  Palamon  had  already  met  many 
times;  they  had  unhorsed  one  another,  but  no  more;  and 
Palamon  was  raging  up  and  down  like  a  tiger  whose  cubs  have 
been  stolen.  But  at  length  they  drew  to  an  end.  King 
Emetreus  the  strong  smote  Palamon,  who  was  fighting  with 
Arcita,  and  pierced  his  side  deep  with  his  sword.  A  score  of 
others  leapt  upon  him,  to  drag  him  to  the  stake  as  a  prisoner. 
King  Lycurgus  tried  vainly  to  rescue  him;  he  was  borne  down 
by  the  press  of  men.  But  Emetreus,  for  all  his  strength,  was 
carried  out  of  his  saddle  to  the  ground,  and  fell  a  sword's  length 
behind  his  horse,  so  fiercely  did  Palamon  strike  him  as  he  was 
dragged  off. 

"So  Palamon  was  led  to  the  stake  where  other  prisoners  stood; 
there,  perforce,  he  had  to  remain.  But  Theseus,  when  he  saw 
Palamon  taken,  started  up. 

"'Hold!  no  more!'  cried  he;  'the  tourney  is  ended.  Arcita 
of  Thebes  shall  have  the  Lady  Emelie,  for  he  has  won  her  fairly 
in  the  fight.' 

"At  that  the  people  raised  such  a  shout  that  it  seemed  as 
though  the  lists  would  fall  with  the  sound. 

"But  on  Olympus,  among  the  gods,  strife  began  anew,  for 
Saturn  had  promised  Venus  that  her  knight  Palamon  should 
win  his  lady.  When  the  goddess  saw  Palamon  defeated,  and 
Emelie  given  to  Arcita,  she  fell  to  weeping  and  upbraiding  the 
father  of  the  gods. 

"  'Daughter,  hold  your  peace,'  answered  Saturn.     'Mars  has 


38  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

his  will  now,  and  the  victory  is  Arcita's;  but  your  turn  will 


come.' 


"The  trumpets  were  sounding,  the  noise  of  minstrelsy  was 
everywhere  heard  in  praise  of  Arcita.  He  took  off  his  helmet 
to  show  his  face,  and  rode  proudly  up  to  the  place  where  Emelie 
sat.  She  cast  her  eyes  upon  him  not  unwillingly,  for  she  had 
seen  his  brave  deeds  in  the  tournament.  And  now  his  horse  was 
prancing  and  curvetting  before  her,  when  suddenly  from  out 
of  the  ground  there  started  a  Fury,  which  Saturn  had  asked 
Pluto,  god  of  the  underworld,  to  send,  in  order  to  fulfil  his 
promise  to  Venus. 

"Arcita's  horse  reared  and  turned  aside  terrified,  and  fell  in 
turning.  Before  Arcita  could  save  himself,  he  pitched  forward 
on  his  head,  and  lay  where  he  fell  as  if  dead,  his  breast  crushed 
by  the  saddle-bow.  His  friends  ran  to  help  him,  and  lifted  him 
up  and  carried  him  away  to  Theseus'  palace.  There  he  was 
laid  on  a  bed  and  tended  carefully.  He  did  not  seem  to  be 
very  severely  hurt,  and  men  said  that  he  would  live  to  marry 
Emelie. 

"Duke  Theseus  and  all  his  company  went  to  the  palace  after 
the  tournament.  When  care  had  been  taken  that  Arcita  should 
fare  well,  the  knights  on  both  sides  were  royally  entertained, 
and  those  that  were  hurt  had  their  wounds  tended.  No  one  had 
been  killed,  though  many  were  wounded.  For  three  days  great 
rejoicings  were  held,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  the  knights 
went  to  their  own  homes,  each  with  a  splendid  escort  and  gifts, 
given  them  by  the  Duke's  command. 

"Thus  ended  the  great  tournament,  and  I  need  speak  of  it  no 
more.  Let  us  return  to  the  story  of  Palamon  and  Arcita. 

"Arcita's  wound  grew  worse  instead  of  better,  in  spite  of  all 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  39 

the  care  that  was  bestowed  upon  him.  Drugs  and  physicians 
were  of  no  avail,  and  soon  it  was  clear  that  he  would  not  live 
long.  He  sent  for  Emelie  and  his  cousin  Palamon  to  see  him. 

"  'Dear  lady,'  said  he,  'I  have  not  time  in  my  life  to  tell  you 
of  my  sorrow,  because  I  must  leave  you.  Alas!  my  queen,  my 
heart's  lady,  take  me  in  your  arms  softly,  and  hear  what  I  say. 
For  love  of  you  there  has  been  strife  between  my  cousin  Palamon 
and  me  for  many  a  long  day.  There  is  no  man  so  worthy  to  be 
loved  for  his  truth  and  honor,  for  his  wisdom,  his  humble  spirit, 
and  his  gentle  birth,  as  this  my  cousin,  who  serves  you  and  will 
serve  you  always,  all  his  life.  I  pray  you,  forget  him  not.' 

"His  breath  failed  him,  his  eyes  grew  dim,  as  he  spoke  his 
last  words,  'Have  pity  on  me,  Emelie.'  So  his  spirit  changed 
its  home,  and  went  to  the  place  that  I  know  not,  for  I  have  not 
yet  come  thither.  And  thus  were  the  promises  of  Saturn  ful- 
filled; for  Mars  had  given  Arcita  success,  but  Venus  could  yet 
have  hope  for  her  knight  Palamon,  since  Arcita  was  dead. 

"There  was  great  mourning  all  over  the  city  when  the  news 
was  told.  Endless  were  the  tears  of  the  old  folk,  and  of  those 
of  tender  years;  children  and  men  alike  lamented  his  fate. 
Why  should  he  die?'  cried  the  women,  'when  he  had  won 
Emelie  with  such  great  glory?'  There  was  no  one,  too,  who 
could  give  comfort  to  Theseus,  except  his  aged  father  Egeus. 
'My  son,'  said  the  old  man,  'all  men  must  die;  this  world  is  but 
a  road  of  woe,  and  we  are  all  pilgrims  passing  to  and  fro  upon 
it.  Death  is  the  end  of  every  worldly  trouble.'  And  he  said 
many  more  wise  words  to  comfort  him. 

"The  Duke  cast  about  to  find  a  fit  place  to  give  Arcita  seemly 
burial.  At  last  he  decided  that,  since  Palamon  and  Arcita  had 
fought  first  in  the  little  wood  or  grove  near  the  town,  he  would 


40  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

cut  down  the  whole  wood,  and  make  there  a  funeral  pyre  of  it, 
to  burn  the  body  of  Arcita,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  coun- 
try. 

"They  set  the  body  on  a  bier  covered  with  cloth  of  gold.  Be- 
fore it  three  great  white  horses  walked,  trapped  in  glittering 
steel ;  mounted  on  them  were  men  carrying  Arcita's  shield,  his 
spear,  and  his  bow  and  bright  golden  quiver.  Behind  came 
Palamon,  mourning,  clad  all  in  black,  and  Emelie,  ruefullest  of 
all  the  company.  On  one  side  of  the  bier  rode  Theseus,  on  the 
other  Egeus,  each  bearing  in  his  hand  a  vessel  of  fine  gold  filled 
with  honey  and  blood  and  milk  and  wine.  The  bier  was  borne 
by  the  noblest  of  the  Athenians ;  and  so,  with  slow  and  solemn 
pace,  they  went  through  the  streets,  all  hung  with  black,  till  they 
came  to  the  grove. 

"But  I  will  not  tell  you  now,  for  it  would  be  too  long  a  tale, 
of  the  rich  gifts  that  were  cast  upon  the  pyre,  according  to  old 
custom;  nor  how  the  flames  of  the  great  fire  blazed  so  furiously 
that  the  lady  Emelie  swooned  at  the  sight,  and  the  brightness  of 
the  sunlight  itself  seemed  dimmed;  nor  of  the  costly  spices 
thrown  upon  the  pyre,  and  the  rich  clothes  in  which  they  decked 
the  body  of  Arcita;  nor  of  the  ceremony  at  the  burning;  nor  of 
the  long  funeral  games  which  were  held  afterwards,  according 
to  the  Athenian  rites.  I  will  go  shortly  to  the  point,  and  make 
an  end  of  my  long  tale. 

"Time  wore  on,  and  a  few  years  passed,  till  the  grief  for 
Arcita  was  less  keenly  felt.  At  length  a  council  was  held,  at 
the  end  of  which  Theseus  sent  for  Palamon  and  Emelie.  They 
came  and  stood  before  him,  but  he  was  silent  for  a  little  time 
before  any  word  fell  from  him.  With  a  sad  face,  he  sat  mo- 
tionless, until  at  length  he  said  his  will  thus : 


THE  KNIGHT'S  TALE  41 

"  'The  great  Maker  of  all  things,  when  first  He  caused  the 
world  to  be,  with  life  and  hate  and  love  in  it,  knew  well  His 
own  intent.  He  ordained  laws  and  seasons  as  seemed  good  to 
Him.  Lo,  the  oak,  that  has  so  long  a  life  from  the  time  when 
it  first  springs  up,  is  yet  wasted  and  dies  in  the  end.  Consider 
also  the  hard  stone  under  our  feet,  on  which  we  tread,  how  in 
time  it  is  worn  away.  Of  men  and  women  also,  in  the  same 
way,  we  see  that  they  must  all  die,  king  no  less  than  page.  So 
it  seems  to  me  wisdom  to  make  a  virtue  of  necessity,  and  take  in 
good  part  that  which  we  cannot  escape.  Whosoever  does  not 
so  does  folly,  and  is  a  rebel  against  the  Ruler  of  the  world.  And 
surely  a  man  has  greatest  honor  when  he  dies  at  the  height  of 
his  excellence,  sure  of  his  own  good  name,  and  having  done  his 
friends  no  wrong.  Why,  then,  should  we  complain  if  Arcita, 
the  flower  of  chivalry,  has  honorably  escaped  from  the  sorrow- 
ful prison  of  this  life?  Let  us,  before  we  go  from  this  place, 
make  out  of  two  sorrows  one  perfect  joy.  Thus  shall  it  be: 
Sister,  you  of  your  grace  shall  take  for  your  lord  and  husband 
this  gentle  Palamon,  your  own,  knight,  who  serves  you  with 
heart  and  might  and  will.  He  is  son  of  a  king's  brother,  and 
were  he  but  a  poor  novice  in  knighthood,  he  has  deserved  well.7 

"Then  he  said  to  Palamon,  ll  trow  there  is  little  need  of 
more  words  to  make  you  consent  to  this.  Come  hither,  and 
take  your  lady  by  the  hand.' 

"Thus  with  all  joy  Palamon  wedded  Emelie,  and  won  his 
lady  whom  he  had  bought  so  dearly.  They  dwelt  together  in 
unceasing  happiness,  and  riches,  and  wealth ;  Emelie  loved  him 
so  well,  and  he  served  her  so  tenderly,  that  there  was  never  a 
word  of  quarrel  or  jealousy  between  them ;  and  they  lived  long, 
contented  and  prosperous. 


42  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"Thus  ends  the  story  of  Palamon  and  Arcita  and  Emelie;  and 
may  God  save  all  this  fair  company." 


"THE  MILLER  IS  A  CHURL" 

WHEN  the  Knight  had  told  his  tale,  in  all  the  company 
there  was  not  one  who  did  not  say  it  was  a  noble  story, 
worthy  to  be  kept  in  memory.  As  soon  as  they  had  praised  and 
thanked  the  Knight  for  it,  the  Host  spoke  again. 

"We  are  doing  well,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "Our  wallet 
of  stories  is  opened,  and  the  game  is  fairly  begun.  Now  who 
will  come  next?  You,  Sir  Monk,  tell  us  somewhat  to  vie  with 
the  Knight's  tale." 

But  before  the  Monk  could  answer  the  Miller  broke  in.  He 
would  not  show  courtesy  to  anyone,  being  still  quarrelsome  and 
sleepy,  hardly  able  to  sit  upright  on  his  horse. 

"I  can  tell  a  noble  tale  to  pay  back  the  Knight,"  he  roared  in 
a  great  voice. 

"Nay,  Robin  Miller,"  answered  the  Host,  "wait  your  turn. 
Let  some  better  man  have  his  say  first,  good  brother,  that  we 
may  profit  by  it." 

"I  swear  I  will  not,"  the  Miller  cried.  "I  will  tell  a  tale, 
or  else  leave  you  and  go  the  rest  of  the  way  alone." 

"Tell  on,  then,  and  a  plague  on  you,"  said  the  Host.  "You 
are  a  fool,  and  your  wits  have  gone  astray." 

The  Miller  would  not  be  silent  or  orderly. 

"Listen  to  me,  all  of  you,"  he  shouted.  "I  will  tell  you  a 
tale  about  a  carpenter  who  was  tricked  and  made  to  look  a  fool 
by  a  clerk." 


"THE  MILLER  IS  A  CHURL"  43 

"Stop  your  noise,"  said  Oswald  the  Reeve,  who  did  not  like 
a  carpenter  being  thus  laughed  at.  "It  is  wrong  and  foolish  to 
slander  other  men." 

The  Miller,  however,  heeded  neither  him  nor  anyone  else, 
but  told  a  rude  and  churlish  tale  about  a  carpenter  of  Oxford. 

This  carpenter,  so  the  story  said,  was  persuaded  by  a  clerk 
that  there  would  be  a  second  great  flood,  and  that  if  he  wished 
to  be  safe  from  drowning  he  must  make  himself  an  ark.  So  he 
used  his  kneading-trough  as  a  sort  of  boat,  and  was  hoisted  in 
it  up  to  the  ceiling  of  the  kitchen.  When  the  water  began  to 
rise,  the  clerk  told  him  he  was  to  cut  the  cords  that  held  the 
ark,  and  drop  into  the  flood,  and  sail  safely  away.  He  did 
exactly  as  he  was  told,  and  for  a  little  while  hung  quietly  up  in 
the  air,  close  to  the  roof,  waiting  for  the  deluge  in  a  state  of 
great  fear  and  wonder.  Suddenly  he  heard  someone  crying, 
"Water  1"  He  cut  the  cords,  thinking  that  the  flood  had  come, 
and  down  he  fell  to  the  hard  floor,  breaking  his  arm,  and  get- 
ting nothing  but  laughter  for  his  folly. 

When  the  tale  was  ended,  the  pilgrims  were  not  sure  whether 
to  be  angry  with  the  Miller  for  his  rudeness  or  to  laugh.  But 
Oswald  the  Reeve  was  much  offended  by  the  story,  for  he  was 
a  quick-tempered  man,  and,  besides,  he  had  done  work  as  a 
carpenter  when  he  was  young.  That  had  been  his  first  trade, 
but  he  had  prospered  greatly  since  then.  He  was  Reeve  to  a 
great  landowner  at  Baldswell  in  Norfolk,  and  he  had  charge  of 
the  whole  of  his  master's  estate — sheep,  cattle,  dairy,  swine, 
horses,  poultry,  stock,  and  all.  He  knew  his  business  well,  and 
could  always  tell  what  sort  of  crops  he  would  have  according 
as  the  season  was  wet  or  dry.  He  had  been  a  faithful  servant 
ever  since  his  lord  had  been  twenty  years  of  age,  and  no  one 


44  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

could  ever  prove  him  short  in  his  accounts,  though  maybe  he 
was  not  really  over-honest.  The  bailiffs  and  herdsmen  all  feared 
him,  and  he  had  contrived  to  do  very  well  for  himself.  He 
had  a  good  store  of  wealth  laid  by  at  home  in  his  pleasant  house, 
which  stood  on  a  heath  in  the  shadow  of  some  green  trees. 

He  was  a  tall,  thin  man,  and  his  legs  were  like  sticks,  with  no 
calf  at  all  to  be  seen  on  them.  His  beard  was  shaved  as  close 
as  could  be,  and  his  hair  cropped  short  round  his  ears,  with  a 
bald  patch  on  the  top  of  his  head.  He  wore  a  long  blue  sur- 
coat,  and  rode  with  it  tucked  up  round  his  waist,  like  a  friar's 
gown. 

He  took  the  Miller's  tale  very  amiss,  though  the  rest  of  the 
company  speedily  resolved  not  to  mind  it. 

"I  could  tell  you  a  story  about  a  proud  miller  who  was  be- 
fooled," he  said  angrily,  "if  I  wished  to  pay  you  back.  But  I 
am  an  old  man  now,  with  gray  hair,  and  I  have  no  love  for  rude 
jesting.  Many  a  year  has  passed  since  first  the  stream  of  my 
life  began  to  run,  and  now  the  vessel  is  almost  empty.  The 


stream — " 


"Enough  of  your  sermons,  Oswald,"  the  Host  broke  in,  for 
the  Reeve  seemed  likely  to  go  on  with  his  moralizing.  "Tell  a 
tale2  and  do  not  waste  time.  Look,  here  we  are  in  sight  of 
Deptford  and  Greenwich,  and  it  is  half-past  seven.  It  is  time 
for  you  to  begin  your  story." 

"Well,  sirs,"  answered  the  Reeve,  "you  have  heard  this 
Miller's  rude  tale  about  a  carpenter:  now  hear  one  about  a 
miller." 

With  that  he  began  the  story  of  Simkin,  the  miller  of  Trump- 
ington,  who  was  cheated  and  laughed  at,  in  spite  of  all  his 
cunning,  by  two  students  from  Cambridge. 


"THE  MILLER  IS  A  CHURL"  45 

"That  was  a  good  trick  they  played  upon  the  miller,"  said 
the  Cook,  clapping  Oswald  on  the  back  when  the  tale  was 
ended.  "But  let  us  not  stop  our  tales  here.  If  you  will  listen 
to  a  poor  man,  sirs,  I  will  tell  you  a  little  jest  that  happened  in 
our  city." 

"I  give  you  leave,"  said  the  Host.  "Tell  on,  Roger  Cook, 
and  let  the  story  be  better  than  your  pasties.  I  warrant  many 
a  pie  of  yours  is  more  than  one  day  old,  and  many  a  man  has 
eaten  jack-puddings  of  yours  which  have  been  cooked  and  grown 
cool  twice  over.  But  do  not  heed  my  jests  or  grow  angry.  Tell 
your  tale." 

"True  jokes  are  not  always  good  jokes,"  answered  Roger  the 
Cook.  "But  you,  too,  must  not  be  angry,  Harry  Bailly,  if  my 
story  turns  out  to  concern  an  inn-keeper." 

The  Cook  had  left  his  shop  in  London  in  order  to  go  on  this 
pilgrimage,  and  was  very  useful  to  the  travelers.  He  could 
roast  meat,  seethe  it,  fry  it,  or  broil  it  as  well  as  any  man,  and 
make  good  soup,  too,  or  bake  a  fine  pie.  Now,  with  a  laugh,  he 
began  his  tale. 

"An  apprentice  once  lived  in  our  city,"  he  said — "a  proper 
little  man,  gay  as  a  goldfinch  and  brown  as  a  berry,  with  well- 
trimmed  black  hair.  He  was  a  good  dancer,  too,  and  they 
called  him  Perkyn  the  Reveller,  because  he  loved  the  tavern 
better  than  his  master's  shop.  He  was  an  idle  rogue.  When- 
ever there  was  any  stir  in  Cheapside,  out  of  the  shop  he  ran, 
and  saw  all  that  there  was  to  be  seen.  He  gathered  a  band  of 
others  like  himself,  and  they  would  dance,  sing,  and  play  with 
the  dice  for  hours  together.  Perkyn  found  his  pockets  empty 
more  often  than  not,  for  all  his  skill  and  cunning,  and  his  mas- 
ter was  forever  chiding  him,  until  at  length  he  turned  him 


46  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

out  of  his  house  for  good,  bidding  him  go  and  riot  as  much  as 
he  pleased  at  his  own  expense." 

Here  the  Cook  stopped  short.  "Plague  on  it!  I  will  tell  no 
further,"  he  said.  "The  tale  is  a  bad  one,  not  fit  to  be  heard  by 
you.  But  I  will  give  you  instead  a  story  of  a  knight's  three 
sons."  And  at  once  he  started  a  new  tale. 


THE  COOK'S  TALE 
SIR  GAMELYN 

LISTEN,  Gentles,  and  hearken  to  me,"  began  the  Cook 
again.  "There  was  once  a  doughty  knight  named  Sir 
John  of  Bounds.  He  had  three  sons,  Sir  John,  Sir  Ote 
and  Sir  Gamelyn.  They  all  loved  their  father  well,  but  the 
eldest,  Sir  John,  was  grasping  and  miserly. 

"At  length  the  old  knight  fell  ill,  and  knowing  that  his  end 
was  near,  he  wished  to  divide  his  lands  among  his  sons,  for  he 
was  anxious  that  they  should  live  well  and  prosperously  after 
he  was  gone.  He  sent  letters,  therefore,  to  certain  wise  knights 
of  his  county,  asking  them  to  haste  and  come  if  they  desired 
to  learn  his  wishes  before  he  died;  and  as  soon  as  they  heard 
that  he  lay  ill,  they  did  not  rest  day  or  night  until  they  reached 
his  house. 

"When  they  were  all  assembled  round  him,  he  said:  'Sirs, 
I  warn  you  I  can  live  but  a  little  longer.  It  is  God's  will  that 
death  should  soon  take  me.' 

"They  grieved  sorely  at  his  words.  'Be  not  dismayed,  sir,' 
said  they.  'God  is  able  to  bring  good  out  of  evil.' 

"  'It  is  true,'  said  Sir  John.  'But  I  beseech  you,  sirs,  for  the 
love  you  bear  to  me,  go  and  divide  my  land  among  my  three 
sons,  and  for  the  love  of  Heaven  do  it  aright.  Forget  not 
Gamelyn,  my  youngest  son.  Take  heed  to  him  as  well  as  to 
his  brothers.' 

47 


48  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"The  knights  went  out,  and  took  counsel  about  the  division. 
They  divided  all  the  land  into  two  portions,  leaving  none  for 
Gamelyn,  the  youngest  son,  but  saying  that  his  brothers  would 
give  him  a  share  when  he  was  old  enough.  When  they  had 
done  this,  they  went  back  to  Sir  John,  and  told  him  how  they 
had  made  the  division. 

"Sir  John  liked  it  not  at  all.  'By  St.  Martin  P  he  cried,  'for 
all  your  division  the  land  is  still  mine,  and  I  will  divide  it  as  I 
wish.  John,  my  eldest  son,  shall  have  the  five  plow-lands  which 
my  father  inherited.  Sir  Ote,  my  second  son,  shall  have  also 
five  plow-lands  out  of  that  which  I  have  won  for  myself. "  All 
the  rest,  and  my  parks  and  my  deer,  and  the  horses  that  I  have 
bought,  shall  go  to  my  son  Gamelyn.  And  I  beseech  you,  sirs, 
you  who  are  skilled  in  the  law,  to  see  that  this  my  bequest  is 
made  good,  for  Gamelyn's  sake.' 

"Thus  spoke  the  old  knight;  and  a  little  while  after  he  lay 
still  forever  in  death. 

"As  soon  as  his  father  was  gone,  Sir  John,  the  eldest  son, 
thrust  Gamelyn  aside,  and  took  all  his  lands  and  horses  for  him- 
self, letting  the  parks  and  woods  and  houses  go  to  ruin. 
Gamelyn  himself  was  brought  up  meanly  in  his  household. 
But  in  spite  of  his  unjust  brother,  he  grew  so  lusty  and  well  built 
that  when  he  became  a  young  man  few  dared  lay  hands  on  him 
or  provoke  him  to  anger.  His  brothers  themselves  feared  him, 
knowing  well  that  he  was  the  strongest  of  them  all. 

"He  was  standing  one  day  in  Sir  John's  courtyard,  stroking 
his  young  beard  and  thinking  of  the  lands  that  were  his,  the 
parks  all  broken  down,  the  deer  stolen,  the  horses  used  up  by 
his  brother,  when  Sir  John  strode  in,  and  said  roughly  to  him: 
'Is  our  meat  readv?' 


THE  COOK'S  TALE  49 

"Gamelyn's  anger  burst  out.  'Go  and  be  your  own  baker  P 
he  cried.  'I  will  not  cook  for  you!' 

"'How  is  this,  brother  Gamelyn?'  asked  Sir  John.  'How 
come  you  to  answer  me  thus?  Never  have  you  dared  to  speak 
so  before.' 

"  'Have  I  not?'  answered  Gamelyn.  'By  my  faith,  I  am 
thinking  that  I  have  never  yet  heeded  enough  the  wrong  that 
has  been  done  me.  My  parks  and  my  deer  are  all  wasted  by 
you  for  your  own  good  pleasure — all  that  my  father  left  to  be 
mine!' 

"  'Hold  your  peace!'  cried  Sir  John,  in  a  rage.  'You  shall 
be  glad  to  have  your  food  and  clothing,  you  good-for-noth- 
ing!' 

"  'Good-for-nothing!  I  am  the  son  of  a  gentle  knight,  and 
woe  to  him  that  calls  me  good-for-nothing!' 

"Sir  John  dared  not  face  Gamelyn  himself.  He  called  in- 
stead to  his  men.  'Go  and  beat  the  boy,  and  stop  his  jests. 
Teach  him  to  answer  me  fitly  another  time.' 

"  'A  pretty  brother  you  are  to  me!'  cried  Gamelyn.  'Who  is 
going  to  beat  me?  Why  do  you  not  do  it  yourself?' 

"The  men  took  up  clubs,  and  would  have  obeyed  Sir  John's 
orders.  But  Gamelyn  saw  what  they  were  about,  and  casting 
his  eye  round,  he  spied  a  pestle  lying  in  a  mortar  by  the  wall. 
He  sprang  to  it  quickly,  being  light  of  foot  as  well  as  strong  of 
body,  and  seizing  it,  used  it  so  well  that  he  drove  all  the  serv- 
ants in  a  crowd  before  him,  laying  on  right  heartily.  His 
brother  fled  up  into  a  loft,  and  shut  the  door  fast. 

"When  he  had  put  them  all  to  flight,  Gamelyn  began  to 
search  for  Sir  John,  looking  like  a  wild  lion  in  his  anger.  He 
saw  him  at  the  loft  window. 


jo  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"  'Brother,'  said  he,  'come  near,  and  I  will  teach  you  the 
sword  and  buckler  game!' 

"  While  you  have  that  club  in  your  hand,'  answered  Sir 
John,  'I  will  not  come  near  you.  Throw  it  away,  and  let  us 
make  our  peace,  and  give  up  our  anger.' 

"  'I  do  well  to  be  wroth,'  said  Gamelyn.  'You  would  have 
had  your  men  beat  me,  and  they  had  done  it  but  for  my  strength 
of  arm.' 

"  'Gamelyn,  do  not  be  angry,'  went  on  Sir  John.  'I  did  it 
only  for  a  test,  to  see  if  you  were  as  strong  for  your  age  as  you 
seemed.' 

"  'Come  down  to  me,  then,'  said  Gamelyn,  'and  grant  me  a 
boon.  I  will  only  ask  one  thing.' 

"Down  came  Sir  John,  with  fair  and  friendly  words,  for  he 
was  sore  afraid  of  the  pestle ;  but  he  hid  treachery  in  his  heart. 

"  'You  shall  have  it,  whatever  it  is,'  he  said.  'What  is  it  that 
you  ask?  Hold  me  to  blame  if  I  do  not  soon  perform  it.' 

"  'We  shall  be  at  one  again,  brother,  if  you  will  only  restore 
to  me  my  lands  and  deer  and  horses  which  my  father  left  for 
me.  Do  this,  and  our  strife  is  at  an  end.' 

"  'You  shall  have  them  all  back,  Gamelyn,'  replied  his  crafty 
brother.  'I  swear  it.' 

"But  he  was  trying  to  think  of  some  deceit  as  he  spoke,  though 
Gamelyn  was  too  simple  to  suspect  it. 

"They  made  friends  again,  and  went  on  living  together.  But 
Sir  J-ohn  did  not  at  once  give  his  brother  back  his  inheritance, 
and  Gamelyn  was  not  anxious  to  begin  the  quarrel  afresh,  so 
that  for  a  time  he  said  no  more  about  it. 

"Soon  after  this  a  great  fair  was  held  in  a  town  near  at  hand. 
;A  champion  wrestler  came  to  it,  and  had  it  proclaimed  that  he 


THE  COOK'S  TALE  51 

would  try  a  fall  with  all  who  liked  to  come.  The  prize  for  any- 
one who  overthrew  him  was  to  be  a  ram  and  a  ring. 

"Gamelyn,  feeling  himself  young  and  active,  wished  to  go 
and  prove  his  strength  against  the  champion.  'Brother,  lend 
me  a  horse,'  he  said  to  Sir  John.  'I  must  go  on  an  errand.' 

"  'Go  and  choose  the  best  in  the  stable,'  answered  his  brother. 
'But  whither  would  you  ride?' 

"  'There  is  a  wrestling  match  in  the  town,  and  I  am  going  to 
try  for  the  ram  and  the  ring,  which  are  to  be  the  prize  for  who- 
ever defeats  the  champion.  It  would  bring  great  honor  to  our 
house  if  I  could  win  them.' 

"So  a  horse  was  saddled,  and  Gamelyn  put  his  spurs  on  and 
rode  off  with  his  servant  to  the  fair.  Sir  John  was  not  sorry  to 
see  his  brother  go,  for  he  hoped  that  he  would  get  his  neck 
broken  by  the  champion. 

"As  Gamelyn  drew  near  to  the  fair,  and  was  about  to  get  off 
his  horse  to  go  to  the  wrestling,  he  saw  a  franklin  wringing  his 
hands  and  making  a  great  lamentation. 

"  'What  is  the  matter,  good  man?'  he  asked.  'Can  I  help 
you?' 

"'Alas  that  ever  I  was  born!'  said  the  other.  'I  had  two 
sons,  strong  and  stalwart;  but  now  a  champion  wrestler  at  the 
fair  yonder  has  thrown  them  and  half  slain  them.  I  would 
gladly  lose  ten  pounds  and  more  if  I  could  only  find  a  man  to 
give  him  some  rough  handling.' 

"  'Good  man,  hold  my  horse,'  said  Gamelyn,  'and  help  my 
man  to  guard  my  clothes,  and  I  will  go  and  see  what  success  I 
may  have  with  this  champion.' 

"  'I  will  do  it,'  answered  the  man.  'I  will  second  you,  and 
hold  your  clothes.' 


52  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"So  Gamelyn  stripped  for  the  fray,  and  went  to  the  place 
where  the  wrestling  was  held.  All  the  people  there  wondered 
that  he  dared  face  the  champion. 

"Up  started  the  great  wrestler  when  he  saw  Gamelyn  coming 
towards  him. 

"  Who  is  your  sire?'  said  he.  'You  must  be  mad  to  come 
here.' 

"  'You  knew  my  father  well  when  he  was  alive,'  replied 
Gamelyn.  'He  was  Sir  John  of  Bounds,  and  I  am  his  son 
Gamelyn.' 

"  'I  knew  your  father  well,  my  fine  fellow,  and  I  knew  you, 
too,  Gamelyn,  when  you  were  a  child — and  an  unruly  cub  you 
were!' 

"  'Now  that  I  am  older,  you  shall  find  me  something  more 
than  that,'  answered  Gamelyn. 

"  'Welcome,  then,  to  my  arms,'  said  the  champion.  'Once 
you  come  into  my  grip,  you  will  fare  ill!' 

"With  that  they  fell  to.  The  champion  tried  all  his  tricks, 
and  put  forth  all  his  strength,  but  he  could  not  throw  Gamelyn, 
who  stood  firm,  and  mockingly  bade  him  do  his  best. 

"  'Now  that  I  have  made  trial  of  one  or  two  tricks  of  yours,' 
said  Gamelyn  at  length,  'you  must  see  one  of  mine.' 

"He  closed  fiercely  with  his  enemy,  and  cast  him  on  his  left 
side,  breaking  three  of  his  ribs  and  his  arm  in  the  fall.  'Is  it  a 
fair  throw?'  he  asked. 

"  'Whether  it  is  that  or  not,'  answered  the  champion,  'I  know 
that  whoever  comes  into  your  hands  will  not  come  well  out  of 
them  again.' 

"  'Blessed  be  the  day  you  first  saw  the  light,  Gamelyn!'  cried 
the  franklin  whose  sons  had  been  hurt  by  the  wrestler.  'Young 


THE  COOK'S  TALE  53 

Gamelyn  has  taught  you  the  game,'  he  added,  turning  to  the 
champion. 

"  'He  is  an  evil  master,  and  his  play  is  rough,'  answered  the 
latter,  who  did  not  like  his  defeat.  'It  is  long  since  first  I 
learned  to  wrestle,  but  never  yet  have  I  been  so  rudely  handled.' 

"Gamelyn  stood  forth  after  his  victory  and  cried:  'If  there 
are  any  more,  let  them  come  to  work  with  me.  The  champion 
does  not  desire  another  bout.' 

"But  no  one  else  was  anxious  to  wrestle  with  him  when  they 
saw  how  he  had  treated  the  champion. 

"  Tut  on  your  coat  again,  Gamelyn,'  said  the  two  gentlemen 
who  had  charge  of  the  place,  coming  up  to  him.  'The  fair  is 
over  now.' 

"  'But  I  have  only  sold  half  my  wares,'  replied  Gamelyn, 
who  was  ready  to  go  on  wrestling  with  anyone  who  would  come. 

"  'I  have  bought  enough  of  them,'  said  the  champion.  'You 
sell  too  dear,  and  he  is  a  fool  who  buys  of  you  at  such  a  cost.' 

"  'I  wish  you  had  paid  dearer  for  what  you  got,'  grumbled 
the  franklin. 

"But  Gamelyn  put  on  his  clothes  again,  and  began  to  set  out. 
The  judges  of  the  wrestling  brought  him  the  ram  and  the  ring, 
saying,  'Here  are  the  ram  and  the  ring,  a  prize  for  the  best 
wrestler  who  has  ever  been  seen  here.' 

"Thus  Gamelyn  won  the  ram  and  the  ring,  and  went  home 
with  them,  a  great  crowd  shouting  and  singing  in  his  train, 
But  Sir  John  saw  them  coming  in  the  distance,  and  told  the 
porter  to  shut  the  gate  of  his  house  fast,  and  keep  Gamelyn  out- 
side. 

"The  porter  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  Gamelyn  found  the  gate 
shut  when  he  arrived. 


54  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"  'Porter,  undo  the  gate,'  he  shouted.  'Many  a  good  man's 
son  is  waiting  outside  to  enter  with  me.' 

"  'By  my  beard,'  answered  the  porter,  'I  swear  you  shall  not 
come  in  at  this  gate,  Gamelyn!' 

"  'You  lie,'  said  Gamelyn,  and  smote  the  little  wicket-gate  at 
the  side  of  the  main  one  with  his  foot,  and  broke  away  the  bolt 
that  fastened  it.  The  porter,  seeing  that  he  could  do  no  more, 
took  to  his  heels  and  fled. 

"  'Faith!  you  run  in  vain,'  said  Gamelyn.  'I  am  as  light  of 
foot  as  you.' 

"He  could  no  longer  contain  his  anger,  but  sprang  after  the 
porter,  and  caught  him  by  the  neck,  so  that  the  bone  was  broken, 
and  he  died.  Then  Gamelyn  took  the  body  with  one  hand, 
and  cast  it  into  a  well  which  I  have  heard  men  say  was  seven 
fathoms  deep. 

"After  this  the  men  in  the  yard  shrank  away  before  Gamelyn, 
and  did  not  try  to  stop  him.  He  went  to  the  gate,  and  threw  it 
open  wide. 

"'Welcome!'  he  said  to  the  crowd  which  came  pouring  in. 
'We  will  be  masters  here,  without  any  man's  leave.  Yesterday 
I  left  in  my  brother's  cellar  five  tuns  of  good  wine.  Let  it  be 
brought,  and  you  shall  all  have  your  fill  of  it.  My  brother  is 
a  niggard;  we  will  spend  his  savings  for  him,  and  if  anyone 
withstands  me,  he  shall  go  to  join  the  porter  in  the  well.' 

"Meanwhile  Sir  John  had  fled  to  a  little  turret  of  the  house. 
He  saw  his  brother  and  the  guests  wasting  his  goods,  but  dared 
not  come  down  to  stop  them.  Seven  days  and  seven  nights  they 
feasted,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  eighth  day  they  went  away, 
though  Gamelyn  would  have  had  them  stay  longer.  Then  Sir 
John  came  down,  and  found  Gamelyn  standing  all  alone. 


THE  COOK'S  TALE  55 

"Who  made  you  so  bold  as  to  waste  my  stores?'  he  asked, 
going  close  up  to  him. 

"  'You  need  not  be  angry,'  Gamelyn  answered.  'Long  ago 
I  paid  for  what  I  have  now  taken.  For  sixteen  years  you  have 
had  the  use  of  my  fifteen  plowlands,  and  of  my  horses  that  my 
father  left  me  on  his  death-bed.  All  the  profits  during  those 
years  on  the  goods  of  mine  which  you  have  never  yielded  up  to 
me  do  I  now  give  you,  without  any  more  claim  on  them,  in 
exchange  for  what  we  wasted  at  our  feast.' 

"  'Hearken,  brother  Gamelyn,'  said  the  false  Sir  John,  wish- 
ing to  put  Gamelyn  in  a  good  temper;  'hear  what  I  will  do  for 
you.  I  have  no  son,  and  I  will  make  you  my  heir.' 

"  'So  be  it,  if  you  think  as  you  say,'  answered  Gamelyn,  who 
suspected  no  evil. 

"  'But  there  is  one  thing,  brother,'  Sir  John  went  on,  'that  I 
must  tell  you:  you  threw  my  porter  into  the  well,  and  in  my 
anger  I  swore  a  great  oath  that  I  would  bind  you  hand  and  foot 
for  that  deed.  Do  not  let  me  be  false  to  my  oath,  but  suffer  me 
to  bind  you  for  a  little  time,  just  to  keep  my  vow.' 

"  'Brother,'  answered  Gamelyn,  'you  shall  not  break  your 
word  or  be  forsworn  if  it  is  only  I  who  stand  in  your  way.' 

"So  Gamelyn  let  himself  be  bound  hand  and  foot,  thinking  it 
was  but  a  form,  to  let  his  brother  keep  the  words  of  his  vow. 
But  as  soon  as  he  was  secured,  Sir  John  added  fetters,  and  made 
him  fast  to  a  post  in  the  great  hall.  He  told  all  who  came 
that  his  brother  was  mad,  and  there  Gamelyn  stood  fettered  to 
a  stake  for  two  days  and  two  nights  without  food  or  drink. 

"At  the  end  of  that  time  he  contrived  to  speak  to  Adam  the 
butler.  'Adam  Butler,  I  have  been  fasting  too  long.  I  beseech 
you  for  the  love  my  father  bore  you  to  free  me  from  my  bonds, 


56  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

if  you  can  anyhow  come  at  the  keys  of  these  fetters.  If  you 
will  do  this,  I  will  give  you  a  gift  of  land.' 

"Then  said  Adam  the  butler:  'I  have  served  your  brother 
these  sixteen  years.  If  I  were  to  let  you  go,  he  would  say  that 
I  am  a  traitor.' 

"  'Adam,  you  will  find  my  brother  false  in  the  end,'  replied 
Gamelyn.  'I  beseech  you  to  free  me.  I  will  give  you  a  gift  of 
my  lands.' 

"  'If  you  will  vow  to  keep  that  promise,  I  will  do  all  that 
lies  in  my  power,'  said  the  butler. 

"  'I  shall  keep  my  word,'  promised  Gamelyn,  'if  you  help  me 
to  get  free.' 

"The  butler  agreed  to  help  Gamelyn.  When  Sir  John  had 
gone  to  bed  that  night  he  stole  the  keys  and  unlocked  Gamelyn's 
fetters,  and  gave  him  food  and  drink  in  a  quiet  room,  to  bring 
back  his  strength  again,  for  he  was  faint  and  weak  with  hunger. 

"  'What  is  your  advice,  Adam?'  asked  Gamelyn,  when  he  had 
refreshed  himself.  'Shall  I  go  and  cut  off  my  brother's  head?' 

"  'Not  so,'  Adam  replied.  'I  can  tell  you  a  plan  worth  two 
of  that.  To-morrow  your  brother  gives  a  feast  to  the  abbots 
and  priors  and  other  churchmen  of  the  country  round.  You 
shall  stand  up  by  the  post  as  if  you  were  still  bound,  and  I  will 
leave  the  fetters  unlocked.  When  the  guests  have  eaten  well, 
you  must  beg  them  all  in  turn  to  free  you;  and  if  any  of  them 
will  stand  up  for  you,  you  will  be  freed,  and  I  shall  escape  any 
blame.  But  if  not,  we  must  try  another  way :  you  and  I  will  each 
take  a  good  staff,  and  woe  be  to  that  one  of  us  who  fails  the 
other!' 

"  'Evil  come  on  me  if  I  fail!'  said  Gamelyn.  'But  warn  me, 
Adam,  when  we  are  to  begin.' 


THE  COOK'S  TALE  57 

"  'I  will  warn  you,  Gamelyn.  When  I  wink  at  you,  cast  away 
the  fetters  and  come  to  me.' 

"  'It  is  a  good  plan,7  said  Gamelyn,  'and  I  will  lay  on  well  if 
they  refuse  to  free  me.7 

"When  the  next  day  arrived,  the  abbots  and  priors  were  wel- 
comed to  the  feast.  As  they  came  in  at  the  door,  they  cast  their 
eyes  upon  young  Gamelyn,  who  stood  at  the  stake  as  if  bound 
fast.  The  false  knight,  Sir  John,  full  of  treachery,  told  them 
all  manner  of  shameful  things  about  him. 

"When  they  had  feasted  well,  and  were  in  a  good  humor, 
Gamelyn  began  to  play  his  part. 

"  'Why  do  you  serve  me  thus,  brother  John?'  he  asked.  M 
stand  here  fasting  while  the  other  men  feast.7 

"But  Sir  John  only  told  his  guests  to  pay  no  heed  to  Gamelyn, 
for  he  was  mad,  and  needed  chains  to  restrain  his  fury. 

"Gamelyn  was  silent  again  for  a  little.  Then,  according  to 
the  plan  which  Adam  had  made,  he  cried  to  the  guests:  'Sirs,  I 
pray  you  help  me  out  of  my  bonds.' 

"Then  answered  an  abbot:  'Woe  to  him  who  pledges  him- 
self to  set  you  free!  May  he  prosper  who  does  you  harml' 

"  'I  would  have  your  head  cut  off,  even  though  you  were  my 
brother,'  another  called  out. 

"  'It  is  a  grievous  wrong,  boy,  that  you  are  alive  at  all,'  added 
a  third,  a  prior. 

"  'You  all  refuse?  I  see  that  I  have  no  friends,'  cried 
Gamelyn.  'Bad  luck  to  anyone  who  ever  does  a  good  turn  to 
a  prior  or  abbot  1' 

"Adam  the  butler  was  watching  him  as  he  took  up  the  cloth, 
and  saw  that  his  anger  was  roused.  He  put  two  great  staves 
near  the  hall-door,  and  gave  Gamelyn  a  quick  look,  which  he 


58  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

understood  at  once.  Gamelyn  slipped  off  his  loosened  fetters, 
and  together  they  went  and  laid  hold  of  the  staves,  and  strode 
back  into  the  body  of  the  hall,  looking  around  with  eyes  of 
terrible  anger. 

"Then  they  fell  to  work.  The  common  people  standing  in 
the  room  had  little  love  for  Sir  John's  guests,  and  would  not  lift 
a  finger  to  help  them.  The  two  scattered  and  drove  the  monks 
in  a  crowd  before  them,  Adam  at  one  end,  Gamelyn  at  the 
other,  paying  them  all  in  full  for  the  wrongs  Gamelyn  had 
suffered. 

"  'Give  them  good  measure,  Gamelyn!'  cried  Adam.  'I  will 
keep  the  door.' 

"  'Keep  it  well,  Adam,'  he  answered.  'Do  not  let  any  pass, 
and  we  will  see  how  many  there  are  of  them.' 

"  'Do  no  harm  to  them!  Draw  no  blood,  and  have  mercy  on 
their  shaven  crowns,  but  break  their  arms  and  legs!'  said  the 
butler  grimly. 

"Thus  Gamelyn  and  Adam  worked  quickly  and  with  a  will, 
till  the  monks  who  had  ridden  there  with  rejoicing  and  merri- 
ment were  glad  to  be  carried  back  in  carts  and  wagons,  unable 
to  walk  or  ride. 

"  'Alas!  Sir  Abbot,'  said  a  prior,  'we  had  been  better  at  home 
with  our  bread  and  water  than  at  a  feast  like  this!' 

"Sir  John  had  been  looking  on  with  a  glum  face  while 
Gamelyn  laid  hands  on  his  guests.  As  soon  as  they  were  all 
gone,  Gamelyn  smote  him  on  the  back  of  the  neck  with  his  great 
staff,  and  knocked  him  down.  Then  he  took  him  and  tied  him 
up  with  fetters  to  the  stake. 

"  'Sit  there,  brother,  to  cool  your  blood,  as  I  did,'  said  he. 

"When   Adam   and   Gamelyn   had   done   their  work,    they 


THE  COOK'S  TALE  59 

washed  themselves  and  sat  down  to  eat,  the  servants  waiting  on 
them  gladly.  But  the  Sheriff  lived  only  five  miles  away,  and 
word  was  very  soon  brought  to  him  of  what  had  been  done,  and 
how  Gamelyn  and  the  butler  had  broken  the  King's  peace.  He 
cast  about  in  vain  for  someone  to  go  and  take  the  two  wrong- 
doers prisoners,  till  at  last  four-and-twenty  young  men  came  to 
him  and  said  that,  if  he  agreed,  they  would  bring  Gamelyn  and 
Adam  before  him.  He  gave  them  leave,  and  they  set  out  at 
full  speed  to  do  their  task. 

"When  they  came  to  the  gate  they  knocked,  for  they  found  it 
shut.  The  porter  looked  out,  and  asked  their  errand.  He  had 
seen  them  coming,  and  was  afraid  of  treachery,  for  he  loved 
Gamelyn. 

"  'Undo  the  gate,  porter,'  cried  one  of  them. 

"  'You  must  say  your  errand  before  I  let  you  in,'  answered 
the  porter. 

"  'Tell  Gamelyn  and  Adam  that  we  wish  to  speak  two  or 
three  words  to  them.' 

"  'Stand  there  awhile,  fellow,'  the  porter  replied,  'and  I  will 
go  to  Gamelyn  and  find  out  his  wishes.' 

"He  came  to  Gamelyn  and  said:  'Sir,  I  warn  you  that  the 
Sheriff's  men  are  at  the  gate  to  take  you  both,  and  to  see  that 
you  do  not  escape.' 

"  'Go  to  the  gate,  porter,'  said  Gamelyn,  'and  stay  there,  and 
you  will  soon  see  something.  Adam,  look,  we  have  foemen  at 
our  gate,  and  not  one  friend  to  help  us.  It  is  the  Sheriff's  men 
who  are  come  to  take  us.' 

"  'We  will  give  the  Sheriff's  men  such  a  welcome,'  answered 
Adam,  'as  that  some  of  them  will  be  glad  to  sleep  here  to-night 
in  the  mud!' 


60  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"They  went  out  quietly  at  a  little  postern-gate,  each  with  a 
great  staff  in  his  hand,  and  from  behind  set  on  the  men  waiting 
by  the  main  gate.  Gamelyn  felled  three,  Adam  two;  the  rest 
turned  and  fled. 

"  'Do  not  haste  away,'  cried  Adam  after  them.  'I  have  some 
good  wine  here;  drink  some  before  you  go!' 

"  'Your  wine  is  too  strong  for  us,7  they  answered,  as  they  ran 
off  in  a  panic. 

"In  a  little  while  the  Sheriff  himself,  hearing  the  news,  set 
out  with  a  great  body  of  men  to  take  them  by  force. 

"  What  shall  we  do,  Adam?'  asked  Gamelyn.  'Here  comes 
the  Sheriff  I' 

"  'We  can  stay  here  no  longer,  or  we  shall  fare  amiss.  Let  us 
go  away  before  they  catch  us.' 

"So  they  took  their  horses  and  went  on  their  way.  Soon  after 
they  had  gone  the  Sheriff  arrived  with  his  men,  and  found  that  his 
birds  had  left  the  nest.  He  got  down  from  his  horse,  and  went 
into  the  hall,  where  Sir  John  was  still  bound  to  the  pillar;  and 
he  set  him  free,  and  sent  for  a  doctor  to  tend  him. 

"Now  let  us  leave  the  false  knight  and  the  Sheriff,  and  see 
how  Gamelyn  is  faring.  He  and  Adam  rode  away  into  the 
woods,  ill  content  with  their  fortunes. 

"  'Now  I  know  that  I  like  better  to  be  a  butler,  and  carry  the 
keys,'  said  Adam,  'than  to  walk  in  these  wild  woods,  tearing  my 
skin  and  clothes  on  the  thorn-bushes.' 

"  'Never  despair,  Adam,'  answered  Gamelyn.  'Many  a  good 
man's  son  has  been  in  trouble  before  this,  and  has  come  out  of  it 
safely.' 

"Even  as  they  were  speaking,  they  heard  the  voices  of  men 
talking  near  at  hand,  as  it  seemed.  Gamelyn  looked  warily  be- 


THE  COOK'S  TALE  61 

tween  the  trees,  and  saw  a  little  way  off  some  seven  score  of  young 
men  sitting  down  on  the  greensward  for  a  meal. 

"  'Adam,  we  need  have  no  doubts,'  said  Gamelyn.  'By  the 
grace  of  Heaven,  after  evil  good  comes.  I  think  we  can  see 
meat  and  drink  before  us.' 

"Adam,  too,  looked  at  the  company  of  men,  and  was  glad 
enough  at  the  sight,  for  he  longed  sorely  for  food.  But  just 
then  the  chief  of  the  band  happened  to  see  them,  and  spoke  to 
his  comrades. 

"  'Young  men,'  said  he,  'I  have  to  be  cautious  with  chance 
guests,  I  am  aware  of  two  standing  yonder  amid  the  trees. 
They  are  well  dressed,  and  maybe  there  are  more  of  them.  Go, 
some  of  you,  and  fetch  them  to  me.' 

"Up  started  seven  of  the  outlaws — for  this  company  thus  as- 
sembled in  the  wood  was  a  great  band  of  outlaws,  who  had 
broken  the  laws  of  the  land,  and  fled  to  the  forest  for  safety — 
and  came  to  Gamelyn  and  Adam,  bidding  them  give  up  their 
bows  and  arrows. 

"  'He  would  be  a  poor  creature  who  yielded  to  you,'  answered 
Gamelyn.  'Bring  another  five,  and  I  will  fight  the  twelve  of 
you.' 

"When  they  heard  his  words,  they  did  not  feel  very  willing  to 
oppose  him. 

"  'Come  before  our  master,  and  tell  him  what  you  wish,'  they 
said  humbly. 

"  'Who  is  your  master?'  asked  Gamelyn. 

"  'He  is  the  crowned  king  of  the  outlaws,'  they  replied. 

"  'Adam,  we  will  go  to  him,'  said  Gamelyn.  'He  cannot,  for 
shame,  deny  us  food  and  drink,  and  he  may  do  us  some  good,  if 
he  is  of  gentle  blood.' 


62  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"So  they  went  to  the  king  of  the  outlaws,  and  greeted  him. 
He  asked  them  what  they  wanted  in  the  greenwoods. 

"  'He  must  needs  walk  in  the  woods  who  may  not  walk  in 
the  town,'  answered  Gamelyn.  'We  do  not  come  here  to  do  any 
harm,  but  if  we  meet  with  a  deer,  we  would  shoot  it  just  as  any 
man  would  who  is  hungry,  and  can  find  no  meat.' 

"The  outlaw  chief  listened  to  their  words,  and  had  pity  on 
them.  'You  shall  have  plenty  here,'  he  said,  and  bade  them  sit 
down  and  rest  themselves,  while  they  feasted  on  food  and  wine 
of  the  best. 

"As  they  sat  there,  one  of  the  outlaws  recognized  Gamelyn. 
He  told  the  master  who  it  was,  for  Gamelyn's  deeds  were  by 
now  well  known  in  the  country  round.  When  the  captain  heard 
this,  and  had  been  told  by  Gamelyn  how  he  had  been  turned  out  of 
his  home,  he  made  him  his  chief  lieutenant,  second  in  command  of 
the  whole  band. 

"A  little  while  afterwards,  word  was  brought  that  a  pardon 
had  been  granted  to  the  captain  of  the  outlaws,  and  he  went  back 
free  to  his  own  estate.  But  before  he  left  them  he  said  to  his  men : 
'Now  that  I  can  no  longer  stay  with  you  here,  I  leave  you  in 
charge  of  Gamelyn.  I  am  pardoned,  and  must  go  home  again.' 

"So  Gamelyn  was  crowned  king  of  the  outlaws  in  his  stead, 
and  lived  for  a  while  in  the  greenwoods. 

"But  in  the  meantime,  his  false  brother,  Sir  John,  had  been 
made  Sheriff,  and  had  sent  out  a  writ  against  Gamelyn,  pro- 
claiming him  a  wolf's-head  and  outlaw.  Gamelyn's  old  friends 
and  servants  were  filled  with  grief  and  anger  at  this  deed,  and 
sent  word  of  it  to  him  in  the  greenwoods.  The  messenger  with 
the  news  came  and  fell  on  his  knees  before  him. 

"  'Sir,'  he  said,  'be  not  angry  at  the  evil  tidings  which  I  bring. 


THE  COOK'S  TALE  63 

Your  brother  is  Sheriff,  and  has  proclaimed  you  a  wolf's-head.' 

"Gamelyn  waxed  wrathful  at  the  message,  for  he  knew  that 
his  goods  would  be  plundered,  and  his  tenants  oppressed,  and 
that  any  man  who  met  him  was  free  to  capture  and  kill  him  if 
he  could. 

"  'Alas  that  I  left  Sir  John  without  breaking  his  neck!'  said 
he.  'I  vow  that  I  will  go  to  the  next  assizes  and  speak  with  my 
brother  the  Sheriff,  even  if  it  cost  me  my  life!' 

"When  the  time  for  the  assizes  came,  Gamelyn  strode  into  the 
hall  where  his  brother  sat  as  lord  and  master.  He  pulled  his 
hood  down  boldly,  to  show  them  all  his  face. 

"  'God  save  you,  sirs!'  he  cried.  'But  as  for  you,  Sir  Sheriff, 
evil  befall  you !  Why  have  you  had  me,  your  brother,  cried  as 
an  outlaw?' 

"But  Sir  John  the  Sheriff  thought  it  high  time  to  stop  Game- 
lyn's  mouth,  and  he  had  him  seized  there  and  then,  and  bound 
and  thrown  into  prison. 

"Gamelyn's  other  brother,  Sir  Ote,  was  as  good  a  knight  as 
might  well  be,  and  when  a  messenger  came  to  him  with  the  news 
that  Sir  Gamelyn  had  been  cast  into  prison  by  his  brother  the 
Sheriff,  he  saddled  a  horse,  and  rode  straight  to  Sir  John. 

"  'How  is  this,  Sir  John?'  he  asked.  'We  are  but  three 
brothers,  and  you  have  thrown  the  best  one  of  us  all  into  prison!' 

"  'He  shall  fare  the  worse  for  your  words,  Sir  Ote,'  answered 
Sir  John.  'He  is  in  the  King's  prison,  according  to  the  law,  and 
there  he  shall  abide  till  justice  can  be  done  on  him.' 

"  'I  know  a  better  way  than  that,'  said  Sir  Ote.  'I  demand 
that  you  let  him  out  on  bail.  I  will  be  surety  for  him,  and  an- 
swer for  it  that  he  shall  appear  before  the  court  on  the  appointed 
day.' 


64  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"  'On  that  condition  I  grant  your  request.  But  if  he  does  not 
come,  you  must  be  given  up  to  justice  in  his  stead.' 

"So  Gamelyn  was  set  free,  and  went  away  with  Sir  Ote.  On 
the  morrow  he  prepared  to  leave  his  brother,  saying,  'Brother, 
I  must  now  go  to  the  woods  to  see  how  my  young  men  are  faring 
without  me.  They  may  be  quarreling  or  doing  wrong  by  now,1 

"  'Ah,  brother!7  said  Sir  Ote,  'that  is  a  hard  word  for  me  to 
hear.  Now  I  see  that  all  the  trouble  will  fall  on  my  head.  It 
is  I  who  will  have  to  go  before  the  court,  and  be  cast  into  prison 
in  your  stead,  if  you  do  not  appear.' 

"  'Do  not  fear/  answered  Gamelyn.  'If  I  am  alive,  I  will  be 
ready  in  good  time.' 

"  'Heaven  shield  you  from  shame  P  said  his  brother.  'Return 
when  it  is  time,  and  save  us  both  from  dishonor.' 

"Gamelyn  bade  him  farewell,  and  returned  to  his  band  in  the 
greenwoods.  He  found  his  young  men  glad  to  have  him  back, 
and  he  told  them  what  had  been  done,  and  how  he  had  to  appear 
at  the  assizes  on  a  certain  day.  Then  for  a  time  they  betook  them- 
selves to  collecting  toll  of  the  rich  who  passed  through  the  wood. 

"Meanwhile,  Sir  John  was  doing  his  best  to  get  together  a 
judge  and  jury  who  would  obey  his  wishes  and  have  his  brother 
hanged,  and  he  soon  found  enough  men  ready  to  his  hand.  They 
all  came  to  the  court  on  the  day  fixed  for  the  trial,  but  Gamelyn 
had  not  returned,  and  Sir  Ote  was  brought  in  to  undergo  justice 
from  them  in  his  stead. 

"But  Gamelyn  had  not  forgotten  his  promise. 

"  'Get  ready,'  he  said  to  his  men.  'We  must  all  go  together 
to  these  assizes.  I  swore  to  my  brother  that  I  would  not  let  him 
suffer  for  me.' 

"They  set  out  in  a  body  for  the  court,  and  Adam  was  sent  on 


THE  COOK'S  TALE  65 

to  see  what  had  been  done  by  the  Sheriff.  He  came  to  the  court- 
house, and  found  Sir  Ote  bound,  and  the  jury  of  Sir  John's  men 
making  ready  to  have  him  hanged. 

"When  Gamelyn  was  told  this  he  was  very  wroth,  and  said: 
'You  hear  this,  friends — Sir  Ote  is  fettered,  and  about  to  be  sen- 
tenced in  the  court-house.  By  Heaven's  aid,  he  who  brought 
him  thither  shall  rue  it!  We  will  slay  those  who  are  guilty,  and 
let  the  rest  go.  Let  none  escape  by  the  doors.  I  will  be  justice 
to-day.  Adam,  come  you  with  me;  you  shall  be  my  clerk.' 

"His  men  bade  him  do  his  best.  {You  will  find  us  ready  when 
you  need  us.  We  will  stand  by  you  as  long  as  we  live.' 

"  'I  will  be  as  true  to  you  as  you  to  me,'  answered  Gamelyn ; 
and  with  that  he  went  into  the  justice-hall. 

"The  judge  was  sitting  in  state,  fearing  nothing,  when  in  strode 
Sir  Gamelyn  amongst  them  all.  He  went  straight  to  Sir  Ote, 
and  set  him  free  from  his  bonds. 

"  'You  were  almost  too  late,  Gamelyn,'  said  Sir  Ote.  'The 
verdict  was  against  me,  and  I  was  to  be  hanged.' 

"  'Brother,'  answered  Gamelyn,  'those  who  will  be  hanged  to- 
day are  the  men  who  have  condemned  you — judge  and  jury,  and 
the  Sheriff  through  whom  this  was  done.' 

"Then  he  turned  to  the  justice.  'Now  is  your  power  come  to 
an  end,  Sir  Judge  1'  he  cried.  'You  have  given  evil  judgments. 
I  will  sit  in  your  place,  and  set  them  right.' 

"The  judge  remained  still  in  his  seat,  and  did  not  move.  Then 
Gamelyn  broke  his  cheek-bone  with  one  great  blow,  saying  never 
a  word,  and  took  him  and  threw  him  over  the  bar  of  the  court, 
so  that  his  arm  also  was  broken.  The  rest  looked  on  in  fear,  and 
durst  not  resist. 

"Gamelyn  sat  down  in  the  judge's  seat,  Adam  at  his  feet  and 


66  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

Sir  Ote  by  his  side.  The  false  judge  and  Sir  John  the  Sheriff 
were  bound  and  brought  to  the  bar  as  prisoners,  and  he  asked 
which  were  the  jurymen  whom  Sir  John  had  bribed  to  deal  un- 
justly. When  they  were  found,  they  too  were  all  brought  to  the 
bar  alongside  of  Sir  John  and  the  judge. 

"  'You  have  judged  unjustly,  you  and  the  jurymen  that  sat  in 
your  court,'  said  Gamelyn  to  the  judge.  'You  shall  all  be  hanged 
this  day.' 

"'I  beg  your  mercy,  sir!'  cried  Sir  John.  'You  are  my 
brother!' 

"  'Yes,'  said  Gamelyn,  'and  if  you  were  still  my  master,  I 
should  fare  worse  than  I  do  now.' 

"So,  to  make  my  story  short,  they  hanged  them  all,  Sheriff, 
judge,  and  jurymen ;  and  thus  ended  the  false  knight,  Sir  John, 
and  all  his  treachery. 

"Sir  Ote  and  Sir  Gamelyn  went  with  their  friends  to  the  King, 
and  told  him  all  that  had  been  done,  and  made  their  peace  with 
him.  The  King  loved  Sir  Ote  well,  and  made  him  a  justice  of 
his  peace.  Soon  afterwards  he  appointed  Gamelyn  chief  lord 
of  all  his  forests,  and  forgave  his  young  men  for  the  unlawful 
deeds  they  had  done  when  they  were  outlaws  in  the  greenwoods. 

"Thus  Sir  Gamelyn  won  back  his  lands,  and  dwelt  in  peace, 
having  paid  his  enemies  their  due  in  full.  After  a  little  time  he 
took  a  wife,  and,  being  made  Sir  Ote's  heir,  when  that  worthy 
knight  died,  he  lived  in  great  prosperity  and  happiness  to  the  end 
of  his  days." 

The  Cook's  was  the  last  tale  that  day.  We  are  told  that  very 
soon-  after  it  the  pilgrims  came  to  Dartfqrd,  where  they  stayed 
the  night. 


THE  THIRD  DAY 

A  SERGEANT  OF  THE  LAW 

THE  next  morning  the  bright  sun  had  run  a  quarter  or 
more  of  his  course  before  the  travelers  began  to  carry 
on  their  stories.     It  was  about  ten  o'clock  when  the 
Host,  after  calculating  the  time  from  the  length  of  the  shadows 
cast  by  the  trees,  suddenly  turned  round  on  his  horse  and  spoke 
to  his  companions. 

"I  warn  you,  sirs,  a  full  quarter  of  the  day  is  gone.  Lose  no 
time,  for  the  hours  waste  day  by  day,  stealing  from  us  while  we 
Asleep,  and  even  while  we  are  awake,  all  by  our  own  neglect. 
Time  is  like  a  stream  running  from  a  mountain  to  a  plain,  and 
it  can  never  be  called  {>ack  again.  So  let  us  go  on  with  our 
tales.  Sir  Man  of  Law,  tell  us  a  story,  according  to  the  promise 
that  the  whole  company  has  made.  You  know  that  you  agreed 
to  obey  me.  Do  your  duty." 

The  Man  of  Law  was  one  who  studied  the  law  as  his  profes- 
sion, a  careful  and  discreet  man,  as,  indeed,  he  seemed  to  be  by 
the  wisdom  of  his  words  whenever  he  spoke.  He  was  very 
learned,  being  held  in  great  honor  for  his  skill  in  the  law.  He 
had  often  been  appointed  judge  at  the  assizes,  and  knew  all  the 
decrees  and  judgments  which  had  been  made  since  the  time  of 
William  the  Conqueror.  There  never  was  such  a  busy  man  as 
he,  and  yet  he  seemed  to  be  busier  than  he  really  was. 

"Sir  Host,"  he  answered,  "I  will  obey,  for  I  would  fain  dtf 

67 


68  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

all  my  duty.  But  I  am  no  clever  story-teller,  like  friend 
Chaucer  here,  who  has  already  told  many  a  tale  in  his  books. 
He  indeed  knows  how  the  task  should  be  carried  out.  Never- 
theless, I  do  not  find  that  he  has  ever  written  the  story  of  Con- 
stance; and  that  I  will  tell  you,  if  I  may.  It  was  taught  me  long 
ago  by  a  merchant  whom  I  knew." 
Thereupon  he  quietly  began  his  tale. 


THE  MAN  OF  LAW'S  TALE 
FAITHFUL  CONSTANCE 

THERE  once  lived  in  Syria  a  company  of  rich  merchants. 
They  were  very  prosperous,  and  traveled  with  their 
wares  far  and  wide  over  the  world,  trading  in  spices, 
cloth  of  gold,  and  fine  satins ;  and  all  men  were  glad  to  deal  with 
them  when  their  ships  came  into  port. 

"It  happened  that  in  one  of  their  voyages  some  of  the  chief  of 
them  went  to  Rome,  where  they  stayed  a  little  time  for  business 
and  pleasure.  While  they  were  in  the  city  they  were  continually 
hearing  the  praises  of  the  Emperor's  daughter,  the  Lady  Con- 
stance. Every  day  new  tales  of  her  virtue  and  beauty  were  told 
to  them.  'Our  Emperor  of  Rome,  whom  may  God  keep  from 
harm,'  men  said,  'has  a  daughter  whose  like  for  loveliness  and 
wisdom  has  never  been  seen  since  the  world  began.  She  is  the 
mirror  of  courtesy;  her  heart  is  a  very  chamber  of  holiness,  her 
hand  ever  open  to  give  alms  freely.  Would  that  she  were  Queen 
of  all  Europe!' 

"The  merchants  remained  in  Rome  as  long  as  they  wished, 
and  then  went  back  to  Syria,  well  satisfied  with  the  business  they 
had  done.  But  they  did  not  forget  what  they  had  heard  about 
Constance. 

"The  Sultan  of  Syria  used  to  show  these  merchants  great 
favor,  and  always  sent  for  them,  and  entertained  them  when  they 
returned  from  a  voyage,  in  order  to  learn  what  they  had  seen 

69 


70  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

and  done  in  their  travels.  He  summoned  them  this  time  as 
usual,  and  they  told  him  where  they  had  been  and  how  they  had 
fared.  Above  all,  they  spoke  so  earnestly  of  the  fame  of  Con- 
stance that  the  Sultan  was  moved  by  a  great  curiosity  about  her; 
and  when  he  had  heard  everything  that  they  could  tell  him  of 
her,  he  was  filled  with  a  desire  to  have  her  for  his  wife. 

"He  sent  for  his  counselors,  and  told  them  his  wishes,  bidding 
them  say  what  should  be  done.  They  talked  and  argued  long 
about  the  matter,  but  in  the  end  could  see  nothing  for  it  but  to 
send  an  embassy  to  Rome  to  ask  plainly  for  the  hand  of  the  Em- 
peror's daughter  in  marriage.  But  the  Sultan  was  not  a  Chris- 
tian, and  they  said  that  no  Christian  king  would  let  his  daughter 
wed  a  heathen. 

"  'Rather  than  lose  Constance,'  answered  the  Sultan,  'I  will 
be  baptized  and  become  a  Christian.  I  cannot  live  without 
her.' 

"Why  should  I  make  a  long  story  of  it?  Ambassadors  were 
sent  with  rich  presents  to  Rome  to  ask  for  the  hand  of  Constance, 
and  the  Sultan  and  all  his  nobles  promised  to  become  Christians. 
The  Emperor  of  Rome  gave  his  consent  to  the  marriage,  and 
bishops  and  lords  and  ladies  and  knights  of  high  renown  were 
chosen  to  go  with  Constance  to  her  new  home. 

"The  appointed  day  at  length  came,  and  all  was  ready  for 
departure.  But  it  grieved  Constance  to  leave  her  dear  country 
to  go  to  the  strange,  far-off  land  of  Syria.  She  obeyed  her 
father's  wishes  in  all  things;  but  what  wonder  that  she  wept  and 
was  full  of  sorrow? 

"  *  Father  and  you,  dear  mother,'  she  cried,  'give  me  your 
blessing  before  I  go  to  this  barbarous  country.  I  will  go,  for 


THE  MAN  OF  LAWS  TALE  71 

you  wish  it,  but  Heaven  keep  me  safe  among  the  barbarians  I 
Alas !  I  shall  never  see  you  again.' 

"But  she  was  to  see  them  again,  though  not  yet;  nor  could 
she  foresee  what  she  must  suffer  before  that  would  come  to  pass. 

"So  she  went  forth  from  them  weeping.  'God  be  with  you 
allT  she  said.  They  could  but  answer  'Farewell!'  And  so  she 
sailed  away  in  a  ship  over  the  sea,  with  a  splendid  escort  and  a 
great  train  of  friends  and  attendants  with  her. 

"The  old  Sultaness,  the  mother  of  the  Sultan  of  Syria,  had 
heard  of  her  son's  wish,  and  knew  that  he  would  give  up  heathen 
worship  and  sacrifices  now  that  he  was  to  take  a  Christian 
princess  to  wife.  She  made  up  her  mind  to  be  revenged  on  Con- 
stance, and  to  get  rid  of  her  if  she  could.  She  summoned  a 
council  of  her  own  friends,  and  when  they  had  come  together 
spoke  thus  to  them : 

"  'Lords,  you  know  well  that  my  son  will  give  up  our  religion 
and  become  a  Christian,  all  for  the  sake  of  this  wife  who  is  com- 
ing to  him  from  Rome.  Why  should  we  suffer  this?  Shall  we 
submit  to  his  new  laws?  Will  you  promise  to  obey  me,  my 
lords,  if  I  try  to  make  our  religion  and  ourselves  safe  for  ever- 
more?' 

"They  swore,  every  one  of  them,  to  stand  by  her  and  strengthen 
her  in  every  way  they  could. 

"  'Then  let  us  first  pretend  to  become  Christians  and  be  bap- 
tized,' she  continued,  'and  I  will  make  such  a  feast  in  honor  of 
Constance  as  will  give  the  Sultan  his  due.  Let  his  wife  be  chris- 
tened never  so  white,  she  will  need  much  water  to  wash  away  all 
the  red  flood  that  will  soon  flow.' 

"Thus  the  old  Sultaness  laid  her  plans.    Before  Constance 


72  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

had  arrived  in  Syria,  she  went  to  the  Sultan,  and  told  him  that 
she  would  take  back  her  refusal  to  become  Christian  (for  she 
had  indeed  refused  at  first,  in  her  rage).  She  repented  of  being 
heathen  so  long,  she  said,  and  wished  to  have  Christian  bap- 
tism. 

"  'Let  me  also  bid  the  Christians  to  a  feast,  my  son,'  she  added. 
*I  will  strive  to  entertain  them  well.' 

"  Tour  wish  shall  be  granted/  answered  the  Sultan. 

"The  Sultaness  knelt  and  thanked  him  for  his  gracious  leave. 
He  knew  not  what  to  say,  for  he  was  full  of  joy  at  her  words  and 
her  desire  to  be  baptized.  Then  she  kissed  him,  and  went  home 
to  set  about  her  plot. 

"Constance  and  her  escort  of  Christian  ladies  and  nobles  at 
last  arrived  in  Syria.  The  Sultan  caused  his  mother  to  be  told 
the  news  at  once,  and  sent  word  through  all  his  kingdom,  calling 
on  his  subjects  to  come  and  welcome  his  wife,  and  uphold  the 
honor  of  their  land.  Great  was  the  press  of  people  and  rich 
the  array  when  he  went  down  to  the  shore  to  greet  Constance; 
and  the  Sultaness  received  her  with  gladness,  bidding  her  a  lov- 
ing welcome. 

"The  time  came  for  the  feast  to  which  the  Sultaness  had  asked 
the  Christians.  They  thronged  to  the  noble  cheer  that  was  set 
before  them — the  Sultan  and  Constance  and  all  the  Christian 
knights.  And,  to  tell  you  shortly  in  a  few  words  what  happened, 
they  wrere  all  stabbed  and  murdered  there  as  they  sat  at  the  feast, 
except  Constance,  and  there  was  not  a  Christian  left  alive  in  all 
Syria. 

"But  as  for  Constance,  the  heathens  took  her  and  set  her  in 
a  ship  without  a  rudder,  telling  her  to  seek  the  way  back  to  Italy 
for  herself.  In  the  boat  (for  it  was  no  more)  they  put  all  the 


THE  MAN  OF  LAWS  TALE  73 

gifts  that  had  come  with  her,  and  a  great  store  of  food  and  rai- 
ment. And  thus  she  sailed  forth  into  the  salt  sea. 

"O  gentle  Constance,  dear  princess,  may  He  who  is  Lord  of 
man's  fate  steer  you!"  said  the  Man  of  Law,  breaking  off  his 
story  for  a  moment.  "Earnestly  did  she  pray  to  God  to  have 
pity  on  her  and  save  her,  and  her  prayers  were  heard ;  for  His 
power  guided  and  watched  over  her  continually.  Who  else  but 
God  could  have  kept  her  unharmed? 

"The  boat  was  driven  far,  through  the  Greek  Sea  and  past 
the  Straits  of  Gibraltar,  right  into  the  ocean  itself,  till  at  length 
it  was  cast  upon  the  coast  of  Northumberland,  where  it  stuck 
fast  on  the  shore.  The  Constable  of  a  castle  which  stood  near 
chanced  to  find  the  wreck,  and  saw  Constance  lying  in  it,  weary 
and  in  despair,  her  treasure  beside  her. 

"She  besought  him  to  slay  her,  to  free  her  from  her  woe.  But 
when  the  Constable  heard  her  words  (for  he  understood  the 
Latin  tongue,  which  she  used),  he  helped  her  out  of  the  boat  on 
to  dry  land,  and  she  knelt  down  and  thanked  God  for  her  safety. 
But  when  she  was  asked  about  herself,  never  a  word  of  her  name 
or  estate  would  she  say  to  anyone.  She  told  them  she  was  so 
dazed  by  the  sea  that  she  had  forgotten  all  that  happened  to  her 
before. 

"The  Constable  and  Dame  Hermengild,  his  wife,  took  pity  on 
her,  and  she  went  to  live  with  them.  She  was  so  gentle  and  so 
willing  to  serve  and  please  them  that  everyone  who  looked  on  her 
face  loved  her. 

"The  Constable  and  his  wife  were  heathens,  and  so  were  the 
people  of  the  country  round.  But  Constance  grew  to  be  so 
loved  by  Hermengild  that  the  Constable's  wife  became  a  Chris- 
tian through  her  teaching.  In  all  that  land  there  were  no  other 


74  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

Christians  except  three  who  dwelt  near  the  castle ;  the  rest,  be- 
cause of  the  pagans  who  so  often  ravaged  those  regions,  had  fled 
to  Wales,  where  they  could  keep  their  own  worship  without  fear. 

"One  of  the  three  who  were  left  was  a  blind  man,  old  and 
bent;  who  saw  nothing  with  the  eyes  of  his  face,  but  much  with 
the  eyes  of  his  mind.  It  chanced  that  one  bright  summer's  day 
Constance,  Hermengild,  and  the  Constable  were  walking  by  the 
sea,  when  they  met  him.  He  was  told  who  they  were,  and  was 
moved  to  speak  in  such  a  manner  that  the  Constable  himself 
should  have  knowledge  of  the  word  of  God. 

"  'In  Christ's  name,'  he  cried  in  a  loud  voice,  'give  me  my 
sight  again,  Dame  Hermengild!' 

"Hermengild  was  filled  with  terror  lest  her  husband  should 
slay  her,  for  he  did  not  know  till  now  that  Constance  had  con- 
verted her.  But  Constance  gave  her  courage. 

"The  Constable  was  amazed  at  what  he  heard.  'What  means 
this,  wife?'  he  asked. 

"  'Sir,  it  is  the  work  of  Christ,'  answered  Constance  for  her. 
'He  it  is  who  helps  men  against  Satan.'  And  with  that  she  ex- 
plained to  him  the  Christian  faith  till  he  was  convinced. 

"Thus  the  Constable  became  a  Christian.  He  was  not,  I 
would  have  you  know,  sole  lord  of  this  district,  but  keeper  of  the 
castle  only,  subject  to  Ella,  the  wise  King  of  Northumberland 
who  warred  so  mightily  against  the  Scots.  But  I  must  turn  to 
my  tale  again. 

"Ere  long  a  young  knight  of  that  country  fell  madly  in  love 
with  Constance;  but  she  cared  nothing  for  all  his  wooing,  know- 
ing him  to  be  bad  at  heart.  Then  his  love  was  turned  into  bitter 
hatred,  and  he  cast  about  for  some  way  to  bring  her  to  a  shameful 
end 


THE  MAN  OF  LAW'S  TALE  75 

"At  length  he  laid  a  plan.  He  waited  till  the  Constable  was 
absent  from  his  home,  and  then  crept  up  secretly  one  night  into 
Hermengild's  chamber,  where  Constance  lay  sleeping  by  the  side 
of  the  Constable's  wife. 

"They  were  in  a  deep  slumber,  and  he  did  not  wake  them. 
Softly  he  went  up  to  the  bed,  and  without  a  sound  cut  Hermen- 
gild's throat  as  she  slept.  Then  he  laid  the  blood-stained  knife 
by  the  side  of  Constance,  and  went  his  way. 

"Soon  after  this  the  Constable  came  home  again,  bringing 
King  Ella  with  him.  They  found  the  Lady  Hermengild  foully 
slain,  and  Constance  was  accused  of  the  evil  deed,  for  the  knife 
had  been  discovered  all  blood-stained  at  her  side. 

"King  Ella  was  told  the  whole  story  of  her  coming — how 
she  had  been  found  drifting  in  an  open  boat,  and  how  the  Con- 
stable and  his  wife  had  taken  pity  on  her.  His  heart  was  over- 
come with  pity  when  he  heard  the  tale,  and  he  would  not  believe 
that  Constance  had  done  the  murder.  Neither  could  anyone  be 
found  to  swear  an  accusation  against  her,  until  the  base  knight 
himself  came  forward  to  bring  the  charge. 

"A  court  was  held  before  the  King,  who  thought  that  there 
might  be  something  further  hidden  in  the  knight's  accusation, 
and  wished  to  inquire  more  fully.  The  charge  was  read,  and 
there  seemed  no  help  for  it  but  to  believe  that  Constance  had 
done  the  crime. 

"There  was  no  champion  there  to  uphold  her  cause  for  her, 
and  she  fell  down  on  her  knees  before  them  all,  and  prayed: 
'Immortal  God,  if  I  be  guiltless  of  this  murder,  help  me,  for  else 
I  must  die.' 

"Have  any  of  you  ever  seen  in  a  great  press  of  people  the 
face  of  a  man  being  led  to  his  death,  with  no  hope  of  grace — a 


76  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

white,  pale  face  that  you  would  know  among  all  the  other  faces 
in  the  crowd?  Even  so  did  Constance  look,  turning  her  gaze  in 
despair  upon  the  court. 

"King  Ella's  gentle  heart  was  touched  with  pity  for  her,  and 
tears  ran  down  his  cheeks.  'Let  someone  bring  a  Bible  quickly,' 
he  said,  'and  if  this  knight  will  swear  on  it  that  Constance  slew 
the  Lady  Hermengild,  we  will  consider  how  justice  may  be 
done.' 

"They  fetched  a  Bible.  On  it  the  knight  swore  that  Con- 
stance was  guilty.  Even  as  he  spoke  an  unseen  hand  smote  him 
on  the  back  of  his  neck,  so  that  he  fell  down  suddenly  like  a 
stone,  his  eyes  bursting  out  of  his  head ;  and  a  voice  was  heard, 
saying,  'Thou  hast  slandered  an  innocent  daughter  of  the  Chris- 
tian faith  P 

"The  crowd  in  the  court  was  aghast  at  the  marvel.  They 
saw  in  it  the  finger  of  Constance's  God  helping  her.  Great  was 
their  fear  and  deep  their  penitence  for  having  wronged  her  by 
a  false  charge ;  and  the  King  and  many  of  his  nobles  were  con- 
verted, and  became  Christians  at  the  sight  of  this  sign  from  God. 
The  base  knight  was  straightway  put  to  death  by  Ella's  orders, 
and  Ella  himself  took  Constance  to  wife  amid  great  rejoicing. 

"But  Ella's  mother,  Donegild,  when  she  heard  the  news,  was 
filled  with  anger.  She  would  not  give  up  her  pagan  gods,  but 
hated  Constance  for  making  her  son  the  King  a  Christian. 

"After  a  time  Ella  went  away  to  fight  against  the  Scots,  and 
left  Constance  once  more  in  the  care  of  the  Constable.  While 
he  was  absent  Constance  gave  birth  to  a  son,  who  was  christened 
Maurice.  The  Constable  wrote  a  letter  to  the  King,  telling  him 
that  an  heir  to  his  throne  was  born,  and  gave  it  to  a  messenger  to 
take  to  him. 


THE  MAN  OF  LAWS  TALE  77 

"The  messenger's  way  lay  near  a  castle  belonging  to  Donegild, 
the  King's  mother,  who  was  still  eager  for  vengeance  on  Con- 
stance for  stealing  her  son  from  her,  as  she  said,  by  marriage 
with  him.  The  man  stopped  at  the  castle  to  rest,  for  he  reached 
it  late  at  night;  and  when  Donegild  heard  this  she  caused  him  to 
be  brought  into  her  presence. 

"  'My  lady,  you  may  rejoice  and  be  glad,'  said  the  messenger, 
when  she  asked  him  his  errand  and  what  news  he  was  carrying, 
'Our  lady  the  Queen  has  borne  a  son  to  bless  this  kingdom.  I 
have  here  sealed  letters  about  the  matter,  which  I  must  take  to 
your  son  the  King  with  all  speed.  If  you  wish  me  to  give  any 
message  from  you  to  him,  I  am  your  servant  now  and  always.' 

"  'I  will  give  you  no  message  now,'  answered  Donegild.  'But 
rest  here  to-night;  I  will  tell  you  to-morrow  what  I  wish.' 

"The  messenger  ate  and  drank  heartily,  and  slept  soundly  after 
it.  While  he  was  asleep  the  letter  was  taken  out  of  his  wallet 
and  given  to  Donegild.  She  wrote  a  cunning  imitation  of  it, 
telling  Ella  that  Constance  had  indeed  brought  a  child  into  the 
world,  but  that  it  was  a  horrible,  misshapen  creature  which  no 
one  could  bear  to  look  upon,  and  it  was  clear  from  this  that  Con- 
stance was  a  witch  who  had  cast  a  spell  upon  them  all. 

"This  false  letter  was  sealed  up  and  directed  so  as  to  look  like 
the  old  one,  and  the  messenger  went  on  his  way  with  it  in  the 
morning.  Donegild  bade  him  tell  the  King  how  glad  she  was 
that  an  heir  to  the  throne  had  been  born. 

"When  Ella  read  the  awful  news  which  the  wicked  Queen 
had  put  into  the  letter  he  was  filled  with  grief.  But  he  thought 
that  the  letter  was  indeed  true,  and  so  submitted  to  the  will  of 
Heaven,  writing  back  to  the  Constable:  'God's  will  be  donel 
Keep  both  the  mother  and  the  child  till  I  return  home.  If  it  is 


78  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

the  wish  of  Heaven,  I  shall  one  day  have  a  true  heir  born  to 
me.' 

"The  answer  was  given  to  the  same  messenger.  On  his  way 
back  he  stopped  again  for  the  night  at  Donegild's  castle.  Again 
he  ate  and  drank  heavily;  again  the  letter  was  stolen  while  he  lay 
snoring,  and  a  new  one  written  thus : 

"  'The  King  commands  his  Constable,  on  pain  of  hanging,  not 
to  let  Constance  remain  in  his  kingdom  more  than  three  days 
longer,  but  to  put  her  and  her  young  son  and  all  the  treasure  she 
brought  with  her  into  the  same  boat  in  which  she  came,  and 
drive  her  forth  from  the  land,  charging  her  never  more  to  re- 
turn.' 

"The  messenger  gave  this  letter  to  the  Constable,  who  was 
amazed  when  he  saw  it.  'How  can  this  be?'  cried  he.  'Will 
God  let  an  innocent  life  be  lost  so  cruelly?  Woe  is  me  that  I 
must  do  this  evil!  Why  do  the  guiltless  suffer  and  the  wicked 
prosper?' 

"When  he  told  what  had  to  be  done  all  the  people  wept,  young 
and  old  alike.  Nevertheless,  the  King's  command  prevailed, 
and  on  the  appointed  day  Constance,  with  her  face  deadly  pale, 
walked  down  to  her  boat.  She  knelt  on  the  shore  and  prayed: 
'He  that  kept  me  safe  from  the  false  charge  before  can  keep  me 
now  from  harm  on  the  salt  sea  as  surely  as  ever  He  has  helped 
me.  In  Him  I  trust!' 

"Her  little  child  lay  in  her  arms  weeping.  It  was  piteous  to 
hear  her  say  to  him,  as  she  knelt  down,  Teace,  little  son!  I  will 
do  you  no  harm.' 

"With  that  she  laid  her  kerchief  over  his  face,  and  rocked  him 
in  her  arms,  and  cast  her  eyes  up  to  heaven  again.  'Little  child,' 
she  cried;  'what  guilt  is  there  in  you  who  never  yet  did  evil? 


'SHE  WAS  DRIVEN  FORTH  INTO  THE  OCEAN" — PAGE  79 


THE  MAN  OF  LAW'S  TALE  79 

Why  will  your  cruel  father  slay  you?  Mercy,  dear  Constable! 
Let  my  little  child  dwell  here  with  you.  Or,  if  you  dare  not 
save  him  for  fear  of  punishment,  kiss  him  but  once,  in  his  father's 
name!' 

"Then  she  looked  back  at  the  land  she  was  leaving. 

"  'Farewell,  cruel  husband!'  she  said,  and  rose  up  and  walked 
down  the  beach  to  the  ship,  all  the  multitude  following  her.  She 
took  leave  of  them  and  blessed  them,  hushing  the  child's  cries  the 
while,  and  got  into  the  boat.  Food  for  a  long  time  and  all  other 
necessary  things  were  put  on  board,  and  she  was  driven  forth  into 
the  ocean. 

"Soon  after  this  King  Ella  came  home,  and  asked  where  his 
wife  and  child  were.  The  Constable's  heart  grew  cold  at  the 
question,  as  he  told  the  King  all  he  had  done,  and  what  letters  he 
had  received. 

"  (My  lord,  I  did  as  you  bade  me  do  on  pain  of  death,'  he 
said ;  and  Ella  saw  that  the  fault  was  not  his. 

"The  messenger  was  called,  and  forced  by  torture  to  tell  all 
that  had  happened  on  his  journeys,  and  how  he  had  stopped  and 
slept  a  night  each  time  at  Donegild's  castle.  In  the  end  Ella 
found  out  what  had  taken  place,  and  put  the  wicked  Queen  to 
death  with  his  own  hand.  He  searched  far  and  wide  on  the  seas 
and  neighboring  coasts  for  Constance,  but  found  her  not,  and 
after  a  great  while  he  gave  her  up  for  dead. 

"But  Constance  all  this  time  was  being  carried  far  out  into 
the  ocean  in  her  little  boat.  She  drifted  long  over  the  sea  with- 
out ever  coming  near  land.  She  was  not  in  want,  for  there  was 
a  vast  store  of  food  on  board. 

"At  last  she  was  driven  on  shore  near  a  heathen  castle.  The 
boat  was  soon  seen  by  the  people  of  the  place,  and  great  crowds 


8o  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

flocked  to  the  beach  to  look  at  the  stranger.  The  steward  of  the 
castle,  also,  when  he  heard  of  her  coming,  came  down  to  see 
her. 

"As  soon  as  he  beheld  her  he  desired  her  for  his  wife,  and 
asked  her  to  come  with  him  to  his  castle.  But  she  knew  his 
mind,  and  would  not  come.  Then  he  tried  to  take  her  by  force, 
but  Constance  resisted,  and  cried  piteously  to  Heaven  for  aid, 
and  the  child  began  to  wail.  As  they  struggled,  the  wicked 
steward  fell  suddenly  over  the  side  of  the  boat  and  was  drowned. 

"Thus  did  Heaven  a  second  time  by  a  miracle  save  Constance 
from  her  enemies.  Once  more  she  set  out  into  the  open  sea  in 
her  little  boat,  and  drifted  for  many  a  league,  past  the  Straits 
of  Gibraltar  again,  and  into  the  Mediterranean.  There  she  was 
long  tossed  about  in  the  waves ;  but  the  end  of  her  troubles  was  at 
hand. 

"Now  let  us  leave  Constance  for  a  little,  and  go  back  to  her 
father,  the  Emperor  of  Rome.  He  learnt  by  letters  that  the 
Christian  folk  in  Syria  had  all  been  killed  by  the  wicked  old 
Sultaness,  and  he  sent  a  certain  great  senator  with  a  large  body 
of  men  to  take  vengeance. 

"The  senator  and  his  troops  burnt,  and  slew,  and  harried  all 
over  Syria  for  many  a  day.  At  length  they  made  an  end,  and 
set  out  on  their  journey  home  again.  On  their  way  they  fell  in 
with  the  little  boat  in  which  Constance  and  her  son  Maurice 
were  drifting.  They  did  not  know  who  she  was,  but  they 
brought  her  to  Rome,  and  the  senator  himself  told  her  to  live 
with  his  wife.  The  senator's  wife  was  Constance's  aunt,  but 
she  did  not  recognize  her,  and  Constance  would  not  say  who 
she  was  or  whence  she  came.  With  them  she  dwelt  for  a  few 
years  happily,  doing  good  deeds,  and  loved  by  all  who  saw  her. 


THE  MAN  OF  LAW'S  TALE  81 

"Meanwhile  King  Ella  was  overcome  with  remorse  for  having 
put  Donegild,  his  mother,  to  death,  though  in  her  wickedness  she 
had  deserved  it.  He  thought  that  he  was  himself  to  blame  for 
the  fate  of  Constance,  whom  he  believed  to  be  dead,  and  he  re- 
solved at  length  to  go  to  Rome  and  do  penance. 

"The  report  soon  spread  in  Rome  that  King  Ella  was  come 
on  a  pilgrimage,  and  he  was  entertained  honorably  by  the  Em- 
peror and  his  nobles.  Among  others,  the  senator  in  whose  house 
Constance  was  living  was  asked  to  feast  with  him.  He  came 
bringing  with  him  the  little  boy  Maurice,  Constance's  son,  who, 
while  they  feasted,  stood  near  Ella,  watching  him. 

"The  King  wondered  at  the  child's  beauty,  and  said  to  the 
senator,  Whose  is  that  fair  child  that  stands  yonder?' 

"  'I  know  not,'  answered  he.  We  do  not  know  his  father.' 
Then  he  told  the  story  of  the  finding  of  Constance.  'Never 
lived  a  woman  so  good  and  so  fair  as  she  whom  we  found  in  the 
sea,'  he  said  at  the  end  of  his  tale. 

"The  child  was  as  like  Constance  as  could  be.  Ella  remem- 
bered well  his  dear  wife's  face,  and  wondered  greatly  at  the  story 
he  had  just  heard.  But  he  thought  it  not  possible  that  Constance 
should  be  still  living.  'I  am  dreaming,'  he  said  to  himself.  'Yet 
might  not  God  send  my  wife  hither  as  easily  as  He  sent  her  to  my 
own  country?' 

"He  soon  made  an  excuse  to  leave  the  feast,  for  the  sight  of 
Maurice  had  brought  back  all  his  remorse  and  sorrow  for  the  loss 
of  Constance. 

"A  few  days  afterwards  he  went  to  the  senator's  house  to  see 
her  of  whom  such  a  wonderful  story  was  told.  As  soon  as  he 
came  face  to  face  with  Constance,  at  the  first  look  he  knew  truly 
who  she  was.  But  she  for  sorrow  stood  still  and  dumb  as  a  tree, 


82  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

remembering  that  he  had  sent  her  adrift  into  the  sea.  Then  sud- 
denly she  fell  down  in  a  swoon. 

"Ella  wept  at  the  sight.  'Heaven  have  mercy  on  me!'  he  said. 
'I  vow  that  I  am  guiltless  of  harm  towards  you  and  my  son,  dear 
Constance.' 

"Long  was  their  sobbing  and  bitter  their  pain  ere  their  grief 
came  to  an  end.  But  I  am  weary  of  telling  you  of  weeping  and 
sorrow.  When  each  had  heard  the  other's  tale  there  began  to 
grow  up  between  them  such  a  true  and  perfect  joy  that  there  was 
none  ever  like  it,  nor  will  there  be  while  the  world  lasts. 

"But  the  Emperor  did  not  yet  know  that  his  daughter  was 
found.  So  Constance  asked  her  husband  to  pray  him  to  dine 
with  them,  without  telling  him  what  had  happened. 

"When  the  Emperor  came,  they  went  forth  together  to  the 
gate  to  greet  him,  and  as  soon  as  Constance  saw  her  father  in  the 
street  before  her  she  fell  at  his  feet. 

"  'Father,'  she  cried,  'have  you  forgotten  your  daughter  Con- 
stance? I  am  she  whom  you  sent  to  Syria  long  ago,  and  after 
many  wanderings  I  have  come  back  to  you  and  to  this  my  dear 
husband.' 

"Thus  at  last  they  were  all  come  into  happiness.  After  a  little 
while  Ella  and  Constance  went  to  England  together;  but  when 
a  year  had  passed  Ella  died,  and  Constance  came  back  again 
to  Rome,  where  she  was  known  far  and  wide  for  her  virtue  and 
good  works.  After  many  years  her  son  Maurice  was  crowned 
Emperor,  and  ruled  well  and  wisely,  as  you  will  find  in  the 
chronicles  of  Rome. 

"My  tale  is  ended.  May  God,  who  of  His  might  sends  joy 
after  woe,  keep  us  in  His  grace  and  help  all  this  company!" 


SIR  GENTLE  MASTER,  GENTLE  MARINER         83 


SIR  GENTLE  MASTER,  GENTLE  MARINER! 

A  GOOD  tale,  sirs,"  said  the  Host,  standing  up  in  his  stir- 
rups and  looking  round  on  the  company,  when  the  Man 
of  Law  had  finished  speaking.  "Now,  Sir  Parish  Parson,  you 
must  tell  a  tale.  I  warrant  you  are  learned  enough, .by  Heaven !" 

"What  ails  the  man,  that  he  speaks  so  lightly  of  Heaven?1' 
answered  the  Parson  gently.  He  did  not  like  Harry  Bailly's 
rude  words. 

"Ho,  ho!  what  is  that  you  say,  Jack  Priest?"  cried  the  Host. 
"Look  you,  friends,  be  quiet  now,  for  the  Parson  is  going  to 
preach  us  a  sermon." 

"No,  that  he  is  not,"  said  the  Shipman,  interrupting,  as  he 
jolted  along  on  his  cart-horse.  He  was  dressed  in  a  long  gown 
of  rough  cloth  which  reached  to  his  knees.  His  face  was  all 
browned  by  sunshine  and  rain  and  wind,  for  he  had  seen  fair  and 
foul  weather  in  many  a  sea,  and  knew  every  haven  from  Gott- 
land  to  Cape  Finisterre.  He  had  a  dagger  under  his  arm,  hang- 
ing by  a  lace  round  his  neck. 

He  had  come  all  the  way  from  Dartmouth,  then  a  great  sea- 
port, and  was  the  master-mariner  of  a  ship  called  the  Maude- 
layne.  He  was  a  worthy  man  and  a  fine  seaman,  something  of  a 
pirate,  after  the  fashion  of  his  time.  He  made  no  bones  about 
throwing  his  prisoners  overboard  after  a  victory,  so  that  the 
merchant  had  good  reason  for  his  endless  talk  about  the  need  for 
keeping  the  sea  safe  in  the  straits  between  Middelburgh,  in  Hol- 
land, and  the  mouth  of  the  river  Orwell. 

"We  will  not  have  any  sermons  now,"  he  cried,  "or  the  Parson 


84  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

will  sow  a  great  crop  of  arguments  for  us.     I  will  wake  you  all 
up  with  a  tale  like  a  peal  of  bells." 

He  began  his  story  without  any  more  words.  It  was  about 
a  merchant,  his  wife,  and  his  cousin  John,  a  monk.  The  wife 
had  run  into  debt,  and  was  afraid  to  tell  her  husband.  She  went 
privately  to  the  monk,  and  told  him  of  her  trouble,  saying  that 
she  had  to  pay  a  hundred  francs  before  the  next  Sunday,  and  had 
no  money  to  discharge  the  debt.  The  monk  consoled  her,  and 
promised  to  lend  her  the  money,  if  he  could  get  it.  When  she 
had  gone  away  he  went  to  the  merchant  and  told  him  that  he 
wanted  to  buy  some  cattle,  but  was  short  of  money;  would  he 
lend  him  a  hundred  francs  for  a  week  or  two?  The  merchant 
(who  was  about  to  go  a  long  journey)  gladly  did  him  this  serv- 
ice, bidding  him  pay  back  the  loan  whenever  he  could.  The 
monk  took  the  money,  and  gave  it  to  the  merchant's  wife,  not 
telling  her  from  whom  he  had  received  it;  and  she  paid  her 
debt.  When  the  merchant  came  home  again,  the  monk  went 
to  him  and  spoke  of  the  money  he  had  borrowed.  He  said  he 
had  paid  it  back  a  day  or  two  before  to  the  merchant's  wife,  as 
the  merchant  himself  was  away  from  his  home.  The  wife,  of 
course,  had  said  nothing  to  her  husband  about  the  money,  and 
she  was  very  surprised  when  he  asked  her  about  it.  tBy  way  of 
excuse  for  not  telling  him,  she  said  she  thought  that  it  was  a 
present  from  the  monk,  not  the  payment  of  a  debt,  and  so  she  had 
spent  it  in  buying  herself  clothes;  but  she  offered  to  pay  it  back 
gradually,  and  asked  him  to  forgive  her.  The  merchant  saw 
that,  whatever  had  happened,  it  was  no  use  to  chide  her,  and  so 
he  pardoned  her.  Thus  the  cunning  monk  paid  the  wife's  debt 
out  of  the  merchant's  money,  and  taught  her  that  it  was  best  not 
to  hide  anything  from  her  husband. 


SIR  GENTLE  MASTER,  GENTLE  MARINER         85 

"Well  told,"  said  the  Host  when  the  Shipman  ceased.  "Long 
may  you  live  to  voyage  along  our  coasts,  gentle  Sir  Master-mar- 
iner! Now  let  us  pass  on,  and  seek  about  to  see  who  will  tell  the 
next  tale." 

With  that  he  turned  to  Madame  Eglantyne  the  Prioress,  speak- 
ing to  -her  as  gently  as  a  girl,  for  she  was  all  feeling  and  tender 
heart;  she  would  weep  if  she  saw  a  mouse  caught  in  a  trap,  or 
if  ever  a  man  whipped  one  of  her  little  lap  dogs,  which  she  fed 
on  roast  meat  or  milk  and  cake.  But  in  spite  of  her  gentleness 
and  good  nature,  she  tried  to  mimic  the  manners  of  the  Court 
and  stand  on  her  dignity.  She  sang  Divine  Service  vastly  well, 
intoning  through  her  nose  in  a  very  seemly  way;  and  she  spoke 
French  excellently,  in  an  English  fashion,  after  the  manner  of 
the  school  at  Stratford-at-Bow,  for  she  did  not  know  the  French 
of  Paris. 

She  was  of  a  good  height,  with  a  comely  face,  a  well-shaped 
nose,  gray  eyes,  little  red  lips,  and  a  broad,  fair  forehead.  On 
her  arm  she  wore  a  set  of  red  coral-beads,  with  green  ones  here 
and  there,  and  a  golden  brooch  hanging  from  them,  with  a  motto 
on  it — "Love  conquers  all/' 

"My  lady  Prioress,"  said  the  Host  very  courteously,  "by  your 
leave — for  I  would  not  offend  you — I  think  you  should  tell  us 
the  next  tale,  if  you  will.  Will  you  grant  us  this  favor,  dear 
lady?" 

"Gladly,"  she  answered,  and  told  a  story  about  a  little  boy 
who  was  murdered  by  some  Jews.  The  Jews  were  greatly  hated 
by  the  Christians  of  Europe,  and  were  often  cruelly  persecuted. 
People  were  ready  to  believe  almost  anything  evil  of  them,  so 
that  it  was  neither  strange  nor  painful  to  the  pilgrims  to  hear  the 
tale  which  the  gentle  Prioress  now  began. 


THE  PRIORESS'S  TALE 
THE  BOY  MARTYR 

THERE  was  once  in  a  great  city  of  Asia  a  Jews'  quarter, 
a  street  where  all  the  Jews  lived.  The  Jews  who  dwelt 
there  were  usurers  and  money-lenders,  kept  there  by  a 
lord  of  that  country  for  his  own  purposes.  They  were  always 
quarreling  with  the  Christians  of  the  city,  whom  they  hated,  for 
Jews  and  Christians  are  very  bitter  enemies,  wherever  they  are. 

"At  one  end  of  the  street  stood  a  little  school  of  Christian 
folk,  at  which  there  were  a  great  number  of  children  of  the 
Christian  faith,  learning  year  by  year  to  sing  and  read,  as  chil- 
dren do  when  they  are  young.  Among  them  was  a  widow's  son, 
a  little  chorister-boy,  seven  years  of  age,  who  went  day  by  day  to 
the  school.  His  mother  had  taught  him  to  reverence  above  all 
the  Virgin  Mary,  the  mother  of  Christ,  and  he  forgot  none  of  her 
teaching,  for,  like  St.  Nicholas,  he  began  to  reverence  Christ 
when  he  was  yet  very  young. 

"This  little  child,  learning  from  his  book  as  he  sat  at  school, 
heard  a  hymn  sung  in  praise  of  the  Virgin,  beginning,  'Gentle 
mother  of  the  Redeemer,'  and  it  sounded  so  sweet  that  he  drew  as 
near  as  he  dared  to  hear  it  better.  He  listened  to  the  words  and 
the  notes  till  he  had  the  first  verse  by  heart. 

"He  knew  nothing  of  what  the  hymn  meant,  for  it  was  written 
in  Latin,  and  he  was  too  young  to  understand  it.  But  one  day 
he  asked  another  boy,  older  than  himself,  to  tell  him  the  meaning 

of  it 

86 


THE  PRIORESS'S  TALE  87 

"  'This  song,'  the  boy  answered,  'was  made  in  praise  of  the 
Virgin  Mary,  so  I  have  heard,  to  pray  her  to  help  us.  I  can  tell 
you  no  more;  I  learn  the  song,  but  I  do  not  know  grammar 
enough  to  understand  the  words.7 

"  'And  is  this  song  made  in  reverence  of  Christ's  mother?' 
said  the  little  child.  'I  will  do  my  best  to  learn  it  all  ere  Christ- 
mas comes.  Even  though  I  be  beaten  for  not  heeding  my  books 
I  will  learn  it,  to  honor  the  Virgin.' 

"His  friend  taught  him  from  day  to  day,  till  he  knew  it  all  by 
heart.  Then  he  sang  it  out  well  and  boldly  from  word  to  word, 
according  to  the  right  notes ;  and  he  loved  it  so  well  that  he  could 
not  stop  singing  it.  Twice  a  day  did  the  hymn  come  from  his 
lips,  as  he  went  to  school  and  as  he  came  back  home  through  the 
long  street  of  the  Jews'  quarter. 

"Thus  for  a  little  while  he  sang  sweetly  every  day.  But  Satan 
entered  into  the  hearts  of  the  Jews  among  whom  the  boy  passed 
on  his  way  to  the  little  Christian  school.  'People  of  the  Jews,' 
said  he,  tempting  them,  'is  it  to  your  credit  that  every  day  this 
boy  should  walk  and  sing  as  he  pleases  in  your  midst,  defying 
the  honor  which  is  due  to  your  law,  in  spite  of  you?' 

"Thenceforth  the  Jews  plotted  to  drive  this  innocent  child  out 
of  the  world.  They  hired  a  murderer,  who  lay  hid  secretly  in 
a  dark  alley.  As  the  boy  came  by,  singing  his  hymn,  the  man 
leapt  out  upon  him  and  held  him  fast;  then  he  cut  his  throat,  and 
cast  the  dead  body  into  a  pit. 

"The  poor  widow  waited  all  that  night  for  her  little  child,  but 
he  did  not  come.  As  soon  as  it  was  daylight,  she  went  out  to 
seek  him,  her  face  pale  with  fear  and  her  mind  busy  with  ter- 
rible thoughts.  She  searched  at  the  school  and  all  over  the  city, 
till  at  length  she  found  that  he  had  last  been  seen  in  the  Jews' 


88  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

quarter.  Half  out  of  her  mind  with  grief  and  terror,  the  poor 
mother  went  to  every  place  where  she  thought  she  might  find 
her  child,  and  at  last  dared  to  ask  the  Jews  themselves  about  him. 

"She  prayed  piteously  to  every  Jew  who  dwelt  there  to  tell 
her  if  her  child  had  been  seen  to  pass  that  way;  but  they  all  an- 
swered 'No.'  But  God  in  His  mercy  soon  led  the  widow  near 
the  pit  where  her  son's  body  had  been  cast.  O  Almighty  God, 
dost  Thy  wonders  through  the  mouths  of  innocents,  how 
great  AS  Thy  might! 

"Hear  now  the  marvel  that  was  wrought.  As  the  widow, 
calling  her  son  by  name,  drew  near  the  spot  where  the  dark  pit 
lay,  the  dead  child  began  to  sing  in  a  sweet,  clear  voice  his  little 
hymn,  so  that  all  the  place  rang  with  the  sound. 

"Tb£  Christian  folk  passing  by  ran  to  see  this  wonder,  and 
sent  for  the  Provost  of  the  city.  He  came  in  haste,  and  when 
he  had  given  thanks  to  God  for  the  miracle,  he  ordered  the  Jews 
of  the  neighborhood  to  be  seized  and  bound.  They  were  tor- 
tured till  they  confessed  who  had  planned  and  done  the  crime. 
The  murderers  were  drawn  by  wild  horses,  and  then  hanged  ac- 
cording to  the  law. 

"The  child  was  taken  up  with  mourning  and  lamentation  and 
carried  to  the  nearest  abbey,  the  voice  still  singing.  The  poor 
mother  was  so  bowed  down  with  grief  that  she  had  hardly 
strength  to  follow  her  little  son's  body  as  it  was  borne  through 
the  city  on  a  bier,  and  laid  upon  the  great  altar  of  the  abbey. 
The  Abbot  was  sent  for  to  read  the  Burial  Service,  but  the  voice 
of  the  dead  boy  still  sang  'Gentle  mother  of  the  Redeemer.' 

"The  Abbot  was  a  good  and  holy  man,  and  began  to  exhort 
the  child,  saying,  'Dear  child,  I  conjure  you,  in  Christ's  name, 
to  tell  me  why  you  sing  thus,  your  throat  being  cut,  as  we  see?' 


THE  PRIORESS'S  TALE  89 

/ 

"  'My  throat  is  cut  to  the  neck-bone,'  the  boy  answered,  'and 
I  should  have  died  from  it  straightway,  after  the  manner  of  men. 
But  our  Lord  Christ,  to  keep  me  mindful  of  His  glory,  grants 
that  I  may  still  sing  "Gentle  mother  of  the  Redeemer"  loud  and 
clear.  Ever  did  I  love  the  mother  of  Christ  as  well  as  I  was 
able,  and  when  I  was  about  to  yield  up  my  life,  she  came  to  me 
and  bade  me  sing  as  I  lay  dying  this  hymn  which  you  have  heard ; 
and  when  I  had  sung  a  little,  I  thought  that  she  laid  a  grain 
or  seed  on  my  tongue.  Therefore  I  sing,  and  I  must  still  sing  in 
her  honor  till  the  grain  is  taken  from  my  tongue ;  for  when  she 
had  put  it  there,  she  said,  "My  little  child,  I  will  fetch  you  when 
the  grain  is  taken  from  your  tongue.  Be  not  afraid;  I  will  not 
forsake  you." 

"The  Abbot  caught  the  boy's  tongue  in  his  fingers,  and  took 
away  the  grain  which  he  saw  lying  there.  Then  the  spirit 
seemed  to  pass  suddenly  out  of  the  child,  and  softly  he  gave  up  his 
life.  The  good  Abbot's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  he  fell  down 
in  a  swoon  on  the  altar-steps,  and  lay  there  as  if  dead. 

"They  took  the  martyr's  body  from  the  abbey,  and  built  a  tomb 
of  clear  marble  for  him.  There  he  is  now.  May  we  meet  him 
in  Heaven,  and  may  God  grant  us  sinful  folk  His  mercy!" 


CHAUCER  AND  THE  MONK 

WHEN  the  lady  Prioress  had  finished  her  tale  of  this 
miracle,  all  the  rest  were  silent,  no  one  liking  to  speak. 
At  last  the  Host  broke  in  in  his  jesting  way.  He  gave  a  glance 
at  Chaucer,  who  was  riding  as  if  he  saw  and  heard  no  one,  and 
said:  "What  sort  of  a  man  are  you,  Master  Chaucer?  You  are 
for  ever  staring  at  the  ground,  as  if  you  were  trying  to  spy  a  hare 


90  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

crouching.  Come  near,  and  look  up  merrily.  See,  friends,  he 
has  a  waist  as  large  and  finely-shaped  as  mine" — the  Host  was 
a  stout,  round  man — "and  is  well  enough  to  look  at.  Yet  he  will 
not  speak  to  anyone,  but  always  wears  an  absent  look  on  his  face. 
Now,  sirs,  let  him  have  place,  and  you  shall  tell  us  a  tale  of  mirth 
right  quickly,  Master  Chaucer,  as  the  others  have  done." 

"Do  not  be  discontented  if  you  get  a  poor  reward  from  me, 
Host,"  was  the  answer.  "I  can  tell  no  story,  except  an  old  rhyme 
I  learnt  long  ago." 

"That  is  good  enough,"  said  the  Host.  "We  shall  hear  a 
dainty  tale,  to  judge  by  your  looks." 

At  that  Chaucer  began  a  wordy,  rambling  legend,  after  the 
manner  of  the  feeble  minstrels  and  story-tellers  of  his  daj^  mak- 
ing fun  of  the  rhymes  they  sang. 

"Listen,  lords,  and  I  will  tell  you  a  tale  of  mirth  and  com- 
fort. Once  there  lived  a  fair  knight  of  great  prowess,  whose 
name  was  Sir  Topaz.  He  was  born  in  a  far  country,  at  Poper- 
ing  in  Flanders  beyond  the  sea,  and  his  father  was  lord  of  that 
land. 

"Sir  Topaz  was  a  doughty  knight,  his  face  as  white  as  the 
finest  bread,  his  lips  as  red  as  roses,  and  he  had  a  seemly  nose, 
I  tell  you.  His  hair  and  beard  were  saffron-yellow,  hanging 
down  as  far  as  his  waist.  His  shoes  were  of  Cordovan  leather, 
his  brown  hose  of  Bruges  stuff,  his  robe  of  costly  cloth;  and  he 
could  hunt  the  wild  deer,  hawk  with  a  gray  goshawk,  wrestle,  or 
shoot  with  the  bow  as  well  as  any  man. 

"It  befell  one  day,  as  I  will  tell  you,  that  Sir  Topaz  went 
a-riding  on  his  gray  steed,  a  lance  in  his  hand,  a  long  sword  by 
his  side.  He  rode  through  a  fair  forest,  wherein  was  many  a 
fierce  wild  beast,  such  as  the  buck  and  the  hare.  There  grew 


CHAUCER  AND  THE  MONK  91 

also  in  that  forest  trees  and  plants  of  every  kind,  and  the  birds 
were  singing  merrily — the  sparrow-hawk,  the  popinjay,  the 
thrush,  and  the  wild  dove.  At  the  sound  of  their  song  Sir  Topaz 
grew  wild  with  delight,  and  spurred  his  horse  till  the  beast's 
sides  ran  with  blood. 

/•//"At  length  he  grew  a-weary  of  riding,  and  lay  down  on  the 

/grass,  while  his  horse  fed  and  was  rested.     As  he  lay  idle,  he 

r/   bethought  him  of  a  d/eam  which  he  had  had  the  night  before. 

In  his  sleep  he  had  seen  the  Elf-Queen,  the  Queen  of  Fairyland. 

So  lovely  had  she  seemed  to  him  that  when  he  awoke  he  swore 

he  would  wed  none  other  than  the  Queen  who  had  appeared  to 

him  in  the  dream. 

"Into  his  saddle  he  climbed  again,  at  this  thought,  and  rode 
on  over  hill  and  dale  till  he  found  the  country  of  Fairyland  so 
wild.  There  came  forth  to  meet  him  a  great  giant,  whose  name 
was  Elephant,  a  very  terrible  warrior. 

"  'Here  dwells  the  Queen  of  Faery,'  cried  the  giant.  'Sir 
Knight,  if  you  haste  not  hence,  by  Termagant!  I  will  slay  your 
steed  with  my  mace.' 

"  Wait  till  to-morrow.  To-morrow  I  will  meet  you,'  quoth 
Sir  Topaz,  'when  I  have  my  armor.  To-morrow  I  will  pierce 
you  through  and  through  with  my  lance.  Here  shall  you  be 
slain  to-morrow  morning.' 

"He  drew  back  quickly,  and  turned  his  horse  and  fled.  The 
giant  cast  great  stones  at  him  with  a  sling,  but  he  escaped  un- 
hurt. 

"Listen,  lordings,  to  my  tale,  how  Sir  Topaz  came  home  again 
in  haste  over  hill  and  dale,  and  commanded  his  men  to  make 
merry  because  he  must  needs  fight  a  giant  with  three  heads  for 
love  of  a  bright  lady. 


92  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"  'Come  hither,  my  minstrels  and  story-tellers,'  he  said,  'and 
tell  me  tales  as  I  put  on  my  armor — tales  of  romance,  of  kings 
and  cardinals.' 

"They  came  and  sang  to  him,  and  made  him  a  drink  of  sweet 
wine,  royal  spices,  gingerbread,  licorice,  and  sugar,  all  mixed 
in  a  great  wooden  bowl.  Then  he  put  on  his  shirt  of  fine  linen, 
his  jacket,  and  his  suit  of  mail,  his  hauberk  of  Jewish  work,  and 
his  coat-armor,  white  as  a  lily-flower.  He  took  his  shield  of  red 
gold,  his  helmet,  his  sword  in  its  ivory  sheath,  his  sharp  cypress 
spear,  and  his  leggings  of  boiled  leather;  he  mounted  his  dapple- 
gray  steed,  with  its  ivory  saddle  and  its  bridle  as  bright  as  the 
sun  or  moon,  and  he  swore  a  great  oath — 'By  ale  and  bread,  the 
giant  shall  die,  come  what  may!' 

"Men  tell  in  romances  of  Sir  Bevis  or  Sir  Guy  and  other  brave 
knights,  but  Sir  Topaz  was  the  flower  of  chivalry.  He  bestrode 
his  good  steed,  and  rode  forth  upon  his  way  like  a  spark  from  a 
firebrand.  In  his  helmet  he  stuck  a  lily-flower. 

"That  night  he  would  not  sleep  in  a  house,  but  lay  in  the  open 
air,  his  helmet  for  his  pillow,  while  his  horse  cropped  the  grass 
;hearby.  Himself  he  drank  water  from  the  well,  like  Sir  Per- 
•¥  cival— " 

Thus  far  had  Chaucer  got  in  the  tale,  which  did  not  seem 
likely  ever  to  come  to  any  point,  when  the  Host  broke  in : 

"No  more  of  this!"  cried  he.  "I  am  weary  of  it,  and  my  ears 
ache  with  your  worthless  tale." 

"Why  do  you  stop  me  more  than  anyone  else?"  asked  Chaucer. 
"I  tell  you  the  best  tale  I  know." 

"You  do  but  waste  time  with  your  empty  babbling,"  answered 
the  Host.  "Let  us  see  if  you  can  tell  us  a  true  story  of  adven- 


CHAUCER  AND  THE  MONK  93 

ture,  or  at  least  one  in  which  there  is  some  mirth  or  some  profit 
for  our  minds." 

"Gladly,"  said  Chaucer.  "I  will  tell  you  a  little  tale  that  you 
will  like.  It  is  a  virtuous  moral  tale,  in  which  you  will  find 
many  good  proverbs  and  sayings,  though  perhaps  they  will  be 
wrapped  in  new  words." 

He  told  them  therefore  the  tale  of  Melibeus,  a  story  full  of 
learning  and  piety.  A  certain  Melibeus  and  his  wife  Prudence 
had  a  daughter  named  Sophia.  One  day  Melibeus  went  out, 
leaving  his  wife  and  daughter  alone  at  home.  Three  of  his  ene- 
mies found  out  that  he  was  absent,  and  came  and  tried  to  enter 
his  house;  but  the  doors  were  fast  shut,  and  they  could  not  enter 
until  they  found  a  ladder  and  climbed  in.  When  at  last  they  got 
in,  they  beat  Dame  Prudence,  and  wounded  her  daughter,  and 
went  away  leaving  them  both  for  dead.  Melibeus  came  back 
and  found  what  they  had  done,  and  swore  to  be  avenged  terribly. 
He  was  for  going  after  the  villains  at  once  and  slaying  them,  but 
his  wife,  being  revived  from  the  swoon  into  which  she  had 
fallen,  persuaded  him  not  to  act  hastily  in  his  anger.  So  he  held 
a  council  of  his  friends,  and  then  asked  his  wife's  advice  again. 
She  was  ever  anxious  for  peace,  and  proposed  that  he  should 
leave  the  matter  to  her  to  settle  quietly;  and  this  at  length  he 
did.  Dame  Prudence  sent  for  the  three  enemies,  and  spoke  with 
them  sensibly  and  calmly  about  peace  and  friendship.  They 
were  so  pleased  with  her  words  that  they  agreed  to  do  as  she 
wished,  and  she  bade  them  come  on  a  certain  day  to  ask  mercy  of 
Melibeus.  They  did  so,  and  by  his  wife's  advice  he  forgave 
them  all  the  wrong  they  had  done  him. 

This,  then,  was  the  second  tale  Chaucer  told,  but  he  filled  it 


94  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

out  so  with  texts  and  sentences  from  famous  writers  of  old  that  it 
^became  a  kind  of  sermon  or  moral  argument,  such  as  men  in 
r    those  days  liked  to  hear;  and  the  pilgrims  were  pleased  with 
the  lesson  taught  by  the  story— \Do  nothing  in  haste?} 

Harry  Bailly  especially  liked  Chaucer's  description  of  Dame 
Prudence.  "I  wish  my  wife  could  have  heard  that  tale,"  he 
said.  "She  is  not  so  patient  as  your  Prudence.  Whenever  I 
have  to  beat  my  servants,  she  comes  out  with  great  knotted  clubs, 
/crying,  'Kill  the  knaves!  Break  all  their  bones!'  And  if  any 
one  of  our  neighbors  will  not  bow  to  her  at  church,  or  offends 
her,  she  comes  home  and  flies  out  at  me,  raging  because  I  do  not 
go  and  beat  him.  'Give  me  your  knife^  you  coward!'  she  cries, 
'and  you  take  my  distaff  and  go  spin!'  Day  and  night  she  talks 
on :  'Alas  that  I  was  ever  wedded  to  a  milksop,  a  cowardly  ape 
who  lets  every  one  browbeat  him!  You  dare  not  stand  up  for 
your  wife.'  Then  I  have  to  go  out  and  rage  like  a  lion  against 
my  friend  who  has  roused  her  anger.  Some  day  she  will  make 
me  do  one  of  the  neighbors  a  mischief,  for  I  am  a  dangerous  man 
to  meet  when  I  have  my  knife  in  my  hand,  though  it  is  true  that 
I  dare  not  withstand  my  own  wife.  She  is  terrible  to  fall  out 
with,  as  anyone  will  find  who  tries.  But  enough  of  this.  Here 
we  are  n^ar  Rochester^jjid  we  must  have  another  tale.  My  lord 
the  Monk,  be  merry.  You  shall  tell  us  a  story  next.  You  must 
not  be  too  proud.  I  do  not  know  whence  you  come  or  to  what 
order  you  belong,  but  you  have  a  fair  skin,  and  feeal  in  a  good 
pasture,  I  warrant.  You  must  be  some  officer  of  the  Church — 
a  sexton,  or  a  cellarer,  perhaps.  You  are  a  master  at  home,  I 
vow — no  poor  dweller  in  a  cloister,  no  novice,  but  a  governor 
wise  and  cunning.  That  is  why  you  are  such  a  brawny,  well- 
fed-man,  while  we  poor  laymen  are  but  dwarfs  beside  you.  You 


CHAUCER  AND  THE  MONK  95 

holy  men  take  all  the  corn,  and  leave  us  only  the  chaff.  But  do 
not  be  angry,  my  lord,  at  my  jokes.  Many  a  true  word  is  spoken 
in  jest." 

,  .The  worthy  Monk  took  the  Host's  words  very  patiently.  It 
V(%as  a  great  complaint  of  the  day  against  his  order  that  they 
lived  too  well  and  freely,  and  spent  in  luxury  the  great  sums 
which  were  often  given  them.  It  is  true  that  they  showed  great 
charity  and  hospitality  to  any  beggars  or  travelers  who  came  to 
their  monasteries;  but  that,  too,  was  a  cause  of  complaint,  be- 
cause many  idlers  lived  entirely  at  their  expense,  and  never  tried 
to  work  for  a  living.  But  the  monks  were  certainly  very  rich, 
and  most  likely  deserved  a  good  many  of  the  charges  brought 
against  them,  and  our  friend  the  pilgrim  was  no  worse  than  many 
of  his  fellows.  He  was  no  believer  in  the  saying  that  a  monk 
outside  his  cloister  is  like  a  fish  out  of  water.  Why  should  he  be 
always  poring  over  his  books,  thought  he,  or  toiling  with  his 
hands,  as  so  many  monks  did?  He  was  far  more  eager  to  hunt 
with  his  swift  greyhounds,  or  ride  out  on  the  splendid  horses  he 
kept  in  his  stable.  He  left  the  strict  old  rules  of  his  monastery 
to  go  their  own  way,  and  himself  went  out  into  the  newer  world. 
How  else,  he  asked,  could  the  world  be  helped  by  him? 

His  head  was  bald  and  shiny  as  glass,  like  his  smooth  round 
face.  His  eyes  sparkled  as  he  rolled  them  round.  He  was  no 
thin,  pale,  ghost-like  man,  but  as  fat  and  well-kept  as  the  swans 
he  loved  to  eat.  His  sleeves  were  edged  at  the  wrist  with  rich 
gray  fur,  the  finest  that  could  be  got.  He  wore  a  hood  fastened 
under  his  chin  with  a  pin  of  gold,  beautifully  worked,  with  a 
love-knot  for  its  head.  His  boots  were  soft  and  easy,  and  even 
his  palfrey  looked  prosperous,  for  it  was  as  sleek  as  its  master. 

"I  will  do  my  best,"  he  answered  the  Host,  "as  far  as  is  right; 


96  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

to  give  you  a  tale,  or  even  two  or  three.     If  you  will  listen,  I  will 

tell  you  the  life  of  St.  Edward,  or  perhaps,  first,  some  of  my 

^tragedies,  of  which  I  have  a  hundred.     A  tragedy  is  the  story  of 

/  a  man  who  is  in  great  prosperity,  when  suddenly  he  falls  out  of 

his  high  degree  into  misery,  and  ends  wretchedly.     Listen,  then, 

if  you  wish  to  hear  them,  and  pardon  me  for  my  ignorance  if  I  do 

not  tell  you  them  in  the  right  order  as  they  happened." 

He  went  straight  on  without  giving  the  pilgrims  time  to  say 
anything,  reeling  out  his  short  tales  or  tragedies  of  the  great 
men  of  the  world  one  after  another.  He  told  them  how  Lucifer 
was  cast  out  of  heaven,  how  Adam  was  driven  from  Eden,  how 
Samson  was  taken  by  the  Philistines,  against  whom  he  had  done 
such  great  things. 

"And  Hercules,  also,"  he  continued,  "slew  many  a  tyrant,  like 
Antaeus,  Cacus,  Busiris,  and  many  a  monster,  such  as  the  grisly 
boar  and  the  Lernaean  hydra,  or  many-headed  serpent.  He  was 
the  strongest  man  in  the  world  at  that  time,  but  in  the  end  he  was 
killed  by  his  wife  Deianira  with  a  poisoned  shirt  which,  I  am 
told,  was  made  by  Nessus. 

"Nebuchadnezzar,  too,  having  been  the  greatest  king  on  earth, 
was  struck  with  madness  from  heaven,  and  became  as  a  beast  of 
the  field,  eating  grass,  his  hair  like  an  eagle's  feathers,  his  nails  as 
long  as  a  bird's  claws.  Belshazzar  also  fell  greatly,  as  you  will 
find  in  the  Scriptures. 

"We  see  Zenobia,  moreover,  the  Queen  of  Palmyra,  a  great 
warrior  and  Huntress,  subdued  and  led  in  chains  by  the  Roman 
Emperor  Aurelian.  Peter,  the  King  of  Spain,  was  slain  by  his 
brother,  and  Peter,  King  of  Cyprus,  was  killed  in  his  bed. 

"It  is  piteous  also  to  tell  the  fate  of  Ugolino,  Earl  of  Pisa. 
A  little  way  out  of  Pisa  is  a  tower  in  whichlie  was  shut  up  with 


CHAUCER  AND  THE  MONK  97 

his  three  little  sons;  for  Roger,  the  Bishop  of  Pisa,  had  laid  a 
false  charge  against  him,  and  the  people  rose  and  threw  him  into 
this  prison.  They  left  with  him  food  and  drink,  but  very  little 
of  it,  and  that  poor  and  bad.  When  they  had  finished  it  one  day, 
the  hour  came  when  more  was  usually  brought;  but  Ugolino 
heard  the  jailer  outside  shutting  the  great  doors  of  the  tower  and 
going  away.  At  the  sound  he  said  nothing,  but  into  his  heart 
there  fell  the  thought  that  they  would  be  let  die  of  hunger,  and 
he  began  to  weep. 

"  'Father,  why  do  you  weep?'  asked  one  of  the  little  children. 
He  was  but  three  years  old,  and  the  eldest  was  only  five.  When 
will  the  jailer  bring  our  food?  Have  you  no  morsel  of  bread 
left  over?  I  am  so  hungry  that  I  cannot  sleep.  Ah,  if  I  might 
sleep  forever!  Then  hunger  would  no  longer  creep  upon  meP 

"Thus  day  by  day  the  children  begged  him  for  food,  until 
the  youngest  put  himself  in  his  father's  arms,  and  kissed  him  and 
died.  When  Ugolino  saw  it,  he  began  to  gnaw  his  arms  for 
woe;  but  the  two  children  who  yet  lived  thought  that  he  did  it 
"through  hunger,  and  prayed  him  to  eat  them  and  live.  But 
in  a  little  time  they  too  lay  dead  in  his  arms,  and  soon  he  also 
starved  to  death.  That  is  the  tragedy  of  Ugolino  of  Pisa,  and 
if  you  wish  to  hear  it  more  fully,  read  the  great  poet  of  Italy, 
Dante." 

Many  other  little  stories  were  told  by  the  Monk,  all  about 
great  men  whose  deaths  have  been  famous — Barnabo  of  Lom- 
bardy,  Nero,  Holof ernes,  Antiochus,  Alexander^  Julius  Caesar, 
and  Croesus. 

"Croesus,"  he  said,  never  stopping  for  a  moment,  "was  the  rich 
King  of  Lydia,  who  in  the  midst  of  his  pride  and  wealth  was 
taken  prisoner,  and  brought  to  a  great  fire  to  be  burnt;  but  such 


98  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

heavy  rain  fell  on  the  fire  that  it  was  quenched,  and  he  escaped 
for  that  time. 

"But  when  he  was  free  once  more,  he  began  again  new  wars 
and  schemes  of  conquest.  He  thought  that,  since  he  had  been 
once  wonderfully  saved,  nothing  more  would  harm  his  greatness, 
and  he  was  still  further  puffed  up  because  of  a  dream  which  he 
had  one  night.  He  fancied  that  he  was  set  upon  a  tree,  where 
Jupiter,  the  king  of  the  gods,  came  and  washed  him,  and  Apollo, 
god  of  light,  brought  a  towel  to  dry  him. 

"His  daughter  was  very  skilled  in  interpreting  dreams,  and  he 
asked  her  what  this  vision  meant. 

"  'The  tree,'  said  she,  4s  the  gallows.  Jupiter  means  rain  and 
snow,  Apollo  the  sun's  warm  beams.  You  will  be  hanged, 
father,  and  the  rain  shall  wash  you  and  the  sun  dry  you.' 

"Thus  was  Croesus  warned  by  his  daughter,  and  her  words 
came  to  pass,  for  Fortune,  hiding  her  bright  face  behind  a 
cloud—" 

But  here  the  Knight  at  last  cut  the  talkative  Monk  short. 
"No  more  of  this,  good  Sir  Monk,"  said  he.  "You  have  said 
enough,  and  more  than  enough.  Most  men  do  not  lore  to  hear 
many  of  these  gloomy  tales  of  sudden  misfortunes  and  miserable 
deaths.  It  is  more  pleasant  and  comforting  to  be  told  of  some 
one  who  climbs  up  from  a  poor  estate  to  prosperity,  and  there 
abides  in  good  fortune.  That  is  the  kind  of  story  which  we 
should  tell,  because  it  makes  us  glad." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Host,  "you  speak  the  truth.  The  Monk  talks 
loud  of  his  'tragedies,'  and  'fortune  hidden  behind  a  cloud,'  and 
I  know  not  what  else ;  and  all  that  comes  of  it  is  grief  for  such 
heavy  woes.  Sir  Monk,  no  more.  Your  tales  annoy  the  com- 
pany. Such  talk  is  not  worth  a  butterfly,  for  there  is  in  it  nothing 


CHAUCER  AND  THE  MONK  99 

to  amuse  us.  Tell  us  something  else,  for  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  tinkling  of  the  bells  on  your  bridle,  I  should  have  fallen 
asleep  long  ago  during  your  tragedies.  Let  us  have  instead  a 
story  of  hunting." 

"No,"  answered  the  Monk,  "I  have  no  liking  for  jests.  Let 
someone  else  speak.  I  have  told  my  tale." 

The  Host  turned  to  one  of  the  Priests  who  came  with  the 
Prioress,  and  addressed  him  boldly  and  rudely,  for  he  was  not  so 
grand  a  personage  as  the  lordly  Monk. 

"Come  near,  John  Priest,  come  hither.  Tell  us  something  to 
make  our  hearts  glad,  and  be  blithe,  even  though  you  ride  a 
poor  jade  of  a  horse.  What  if  the  beast  is  lean  and  ill-groomed, 
so  long  as  he  serves  you  well?  Let  your  heart  be  merry,  and  tell 
us  a  good  story." 

"Yes,  Sir  Host,"  he  answered  readily,  "I  will  be  merry." 

With  that  he  began  his  tale. 


THE  NUN'S  PRIESTS  TALE 
THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX 

A  POOR  widow,  well  on  in  years,  once  lived  in  a  tiny  cot- 
tage beside  a  copse,  in  a  little  valley.     She  had  had  a 
very  toilsome  life  ever  since  she  became  a  widow,  for 
her  stock  of  cattle  and  her  money  were  both  scanty;  but  she 
bore  her  lot  simply  and  patiently,  and  kept  herself  and  her  two 
daughters  by  hard  work  and  thrift.     She  had  three  large  swine, 
three  cows,  and  a  sheep  called  Moll.     Her  cottage  was  a  smoky 
little  cabin,  just  big  enough  for  her  wants,  and  many  a  frugal 
meal  had  the  poor  woman  eaten  in  it  with  only  hunger  for  her 
sauce. 

"Outside  this  little  house  lay  a  yard  with  a  wooden  fence  and 
a  dry  ditch  round  it.  Here  dwelt  her  cock,  Chanticleer  by  name. 
In  all  the  land  of  crowing  there  was  not  his  equal  to  be  found. 
His  voice  was  as  sweet  as  a  church  organ,  and  the  time  of  his 
crowing  was  surer  than  any  clock.  He  had  a  comb  redder  than 
fine  coral,  notched  like  the  battlements  of  a  castle  wall.  His 
bill  was  black,  shining  like  jet,  his  legs  and  toes  azure  blue;  his 
nails  were  whiter  than  the  lily-flower,  his  plumage  like  burn- 
ished gold. 

"Under  his  rule  Chanticleer  had  seven  fair  hens,  all  won- 
drously  like  him  in  color  and  beauty;  but  the  fairest  hues  of  all 
were  those  on  the  throat  of  her  who  was  called  the  Demoiselle 
Partlet,  a  courteous,  discreet,  and  debonair  lady,  who  from  the 

100 


THE  NUN'S  PRIEST'S  TALE'  ioi 

first  week  of  her  life  had  won  and  kept  the  heart  of  her*  lord 
Chanticleer.  I  vow  it  was  a  great  joy  when  the  sun  began  to  rise 
to  hear  them  sing  together  so  sweetly  their  song,  'My  dear  love  is 
i  far  away'  (for  in  those  days,  as  I  am  told,  beasts  and  birds  could 
speak  and  sing  as  men  do). 

"It  chanced  that  one  dawn,  as  Chanticleer  sat  dozing  on 
his  perch  among  his  wives,  with  Dame  Partlet  by  his  side,  he 
began  to  groan  in  his  throat  like  a  man  troubled  with  bad 
dreams. 

"When  Partlet  heard  the  sound,  she  was  afraid,  and  said: 
'Dear  heart,  what  ails  you  that  you  groan  thus?  You  are  a  bad 
sleeper !  Fie,  for  shame  I' 

"  'Madam,'  replied  Chanticleer,  'I  pray  you  do  not  take  it 
amiss.  My  heart  is  still  alarmed  from  the  terror  I  felt  in  my 
sleep.  May  my  dream  turn  out  aright,  and  no  harm  come  to  me ! 
is  is  what  I  dreamed:  I  thought  that  as  I  roamed  up  and 
down  in  our  yard  I  saw  a  beast  like  a  hound,  who  tried  to  seize 
and  slay  me.  His  color  was  between  yellow  and  red,  his  tail  and 
his  ears  tipped  with  black;  his  nose  was  small,  and  his  eyes 
glowed  like  fire.  I  die  of  fear  even  now  at  the  thought  of  his 
look.  That  is  the  cause  of  my  groaning,  I  do  not  doubt.' 

"'Fie  on  you,  coward!'  quoth  Partlet.  'Now  you  have  lost 
my  heart  and  my  love.  I  cannot  love  a  coward.  I  want  a  hus- 
band who  is  wise  and  brave,  not  a  boaster  who  is  dazed  with 
fear  at  any  trifle!  Why  should  you  be  afraid  because  of  a 
dream?  Doubtless  it  comes  from  your  ill-health.  You  have 
eaten  food  which  is  not  good  for  you,  and  must  take  physic.  I 
pray  you,  before  you  eat  the  herbs  which  I  will  search  out  from 
among  those  that  grow  in  our  yard,  swallow  a  worm  or  so,  to 
make  your  digestion  fit  for  the  plants  that  will  restore  you  to 


102  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

health.     Do  not  fear  your  dreams.    That  is  all  I  have  to  say  to 
you.' 

"  Wife,'  answered  Chanticleer,  *I  thank  you  for  your  learning 
and  counsel.  But  I  find  in  learned  authors  many  things  which 
show  that  dreams  are  often  true.  One  tells  a  story  of  two  travel- 
ers who  went  on  a  pilgrimage  together,  and  came  to  a  town 
which  was  so  full  of  travelers  already  that  there  was  no  room  for 
both  of  them  at  the  same  inn.  So  for  that  night  they  parted  com- 
pany. One  found  a  good  enough  place  in  an  inn,  but  the  other 
could  only  get  a  cattle-stall  in  a  stable  for  a  bed.  In  the  night, 
long  before  day  dawned,  the  one  who  was  sleeping  in  the  inn 
dreamed  that  his  comrade  called  him,  saying,  "Alas!  I  shall  be 
murdered  this  night  as  I  lie  in  an  ox's  stall!  Help  me,  dear 
brother,  or  I  die.  Come  to  me  quickly!"  He  started  up  in  his 
sleep  in  fear,  but  when  he  was  thoroughly  awake  he  took  no  heed 
of  it,  thinking  it  only  a  dream.  But  as  soon  as  he  was  asleep 
again  he  dreamed  the  same  thing  once  more.  Again  he  woke, 
and  again  he  took  no  notice.  But  when  he  was  asleep  for  the 
third  time,  his  comrade  seemed  to  come  to  him,  and  say,  "I  am 
slain  now;  look  at  my  wounds!  Arise  early  in  the  morning,  and 
go  to  the  west  gate  of  the  town.  There  you  will  see  a  cart  full 
of  rubbish,  which  you  must  stop  boldly,  for  in  it  lies  my  body. 
I  have  been  killed  for  the  sake  of  my  gold."  As  soon  as  it  was 
day  the  traveler  went  to  the  stable  where  his  comrade  had  slept, 
and  called  him.  But  he  could  not  find  him,  and  when  he  asked 
the  hostler,  the  answer  was:  "Sir,  your  friend  is  gone.  At 
daybreak  he  rose,  and  left  the  town."  Then  he  began  to  fear 
lest  his  dream  should  really  prove  true.  He  hurried  to  the  west 
gate  of  the  town,  and  found  the  rubbish-cart  just  as  he  had  been 
told  in  his  dream.  Now  no  longer  did  he  doubt,  but  cried  out 


THE  NUN'S  PRIEST'S  TALE  103 

boldly:  "My  friend  has  been  murdered  this  very  night  that  is 
just  past,  and  his  body  lies  in  this  cart!  Where  are  the  rulers  of 
the  city?  My  comrade  is  slain!"  What  more  need  I  tell  you, 
Partlet?  They  had  the  cart  emptied,  and  there,  in  the  midst  of 
the  rubbish,  they  found  the  murdered  man ;  and  when  the  dream 
was  told  they  hanged  the  hostler  who  had  done  the  murder,  with 
his  accomplices.  Thus  we  learn  that  dreams  may  come  true, 
and  that  murder  will  out,  as  we  can  see  any  day  of  our  lives, 
God  will  not  suffer  it  to  be  hidden. 

"  'Again,'  Chanticleer  went  on,  to  prove  his  point  more  fully, 
'the  same  author  tells  another  tale  of  a  dream.  Two  men  wished 
to  go  over  the  sea  into  a  far  country,  but  were  forced  to  stay  in 
a  certain  seaport  by  reason  of  contrary  winds.  At  length,  how- 
ever, towards  eventide  one  day  the  wind  changed,  and  blew  just 
as  they  wished,  and  they  made  ready  to  start  early  the  next 
morning.  But  in  the  night,  about  dawn,  one  of  them  had  a 
dream.  He  thought  that  a  man  stood  by  his  bedside  and  ordered 
him  not  to  leave  that  town,  saying,  "If  you  go  on  your  journey 
to-morrow  you  will  be  drowned."  He  woke  up,  and  told  his 
comrade  the  dream,  and  begged  him  to  put  off  the  voyage  for  a 
day.  But  his  friend  laughed.  "No  dream  shall  make  me  fear 
so  much  as  to  change  my  plan,"  said  he.  "I  care  not  a  straw  for 
your  visions.  Dreams  are  all  folly.  Stay  you  here  if  you  like: 
I  go  my  way."  He  said  no  more.  When  the  time  came  he  took 
his  leave  and  started  on  his  journey  without  his  companion. 
But  he  had  not  sailed  half  his  voyage  when  the  ship  struck  a  rock, 
and  sank  straightway  with  all  on  board. 

"  'Thus,  dear  Partlet,'  finished  the  cock,  'you  may  see  that  we 
cannot  wholly  set  dreams  aside  as  vain.'  And  he  gave  her 
also  other  examples  of  dreams  which  had  come  true — the^  visions 


104  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

of  St.  Kenelm,  Daniel,  Joseph,  of  Croesus  and  Andromache,  and 
many  others.  'I  am  sure/  he  ended,  'that  I  shall  meet  with  some 
misfortune.  Now  let  us  talk  of  something  mirthful,  and  lay 
aside  all  these  fears.  When  I  see  the  beauty  of  your  face,  dear 
Partlet,  and  look  on  your  scarlet  eyes,  all  my  dread  is  driven 
away.  By  your  side  I  am  so  full  of  joy  and  hope  that  I  can  defy 
my  dreams.' 

"With  that  he  flew  down  from  the  perch  with  all  his  hens,  for 
it  was  by  now  broad  day,  and  with  a  'Chuck,  chuck P  called  them 
to  him,  having  suddenly  found  a  grain  of  corn  lying  in  the  yard. 
He  was  no  longer  afraid,  but  looked  as  bold  and  grim  as  a  lion, 
roaming  proudly  up  and  down  on  the  tips  of  his  toes,  and  not 
deigning  to  set  the  sole  of  his  foot  on  the  ground  at  all.  When- 
ever he  found  any  corn  he  chucked  loudly,  and  up  ran  all  his 
faithful  hens. 

"A  little  after,  it  being  then  past  the  month  of  March,  Chanti- 
cleer was  stalking  about  in  a  very  grand  manner,  casting 
his  eyes  up  to  the  bright  sun,  and  holding  high  converse  with  his 
seven  wives,  who  were  strutting  by  his  side. 

"  'The  sun  has  climbed  up  in  heaven  forty-one  degrees  and 
more,  Dame  Partlet,'  said  he.  'Hear  how  the  happy  birds  sing, 
and  see  the  fresh  flowers  blowing!  My  heart  is  full  of  mirth  and 
high  spirits.' 

"But  his  joy  was  destined  to  end  in  woe,  for  suddenly  a  ter- 
rible thing  came  to  pass.  A  fox,  full  of  treachery  and  wicked- 
ness, who  had  lived  in  the  copse  near  the  cottage  for  three  years 
past,  had  the  night  before  broken  through  the  hedge  into  the 
yard  where  Chanticleer  and  his  wives  dwelt.  He  had  been  ly- 
ing quietly  in  a  patch  of  herbs  till  it  was  well  advanced  in  the 
morning,  waiting  for  his  chance  to  fall  upon  the  cock.  Shame 


THE  NUN'S  PRIEST'S  TALE  105 

upon  you,  false  murderer,  lurking  in  your  den — falser  than  the 
traitor  Ganelon  who  betrayed  Roland!  Ah,  Chanticleer,  woe 
upon  that  morning  when  you  flew  so  proudly  down  from  your 
perch!  You  should  have  taken  warning  from  your  dreams. 

"Fair  Partlet  lay  in  the  yard  with  her  sisters,  bathing  herself 
in  the  bright  sun,  and  Chanticleer  near  by  was  singing  as  merrily 
as  a  mermaid.  Suddenly,  as  he  cast  his  eyes  upon  a  butterfly 
among  the  herbs,  he  spied  the  fox  lying  there,  and  his  dream 
came  back  into  his  mind  with  a  rush.  Not  much  desire  had  he 
then  for  crowing  and  singing.  He  started  back  aghast,  and  all 
he  could  do  was  to  cry,  'Cok,  cokP  like  one  sore  afraid.  He  was 
about  to  flee,  when  the  fox  spoke  and  stopped  him. 

"  'Gentle  sir,  alas!  why  would  you  go?  Are  you  afraid  of  me? 
I  am  your  friend,  and  I  should  be  base  indeed  if  I  wished  you 
any  harm.  I  did  not  come  to  spy  upon  you,  but  truly  I  am  here 
only  to  hear  you  sing,  for  your  voice  is  like  an  angel's.  My  lord 
your  father  (bless  his  soul!)  and  your  mother  of  their  grace  gave 
me  once  the  great  joy  of  paying  a  visit  to  my  house,  and  I  would 
gladly  do  you,  too,  some  service.  I  have  been  told  much  of 
what  people  say  about  good  singing,  but  I  vow  that  I  never  heard 
any  man  except  you  sing  as  well  as  your  father  did  every  morn- 
ing. What  he  sang  came  right  from  his  heart.  He  would  so 
strain  himself  to  make  his  voice  stronger  and  clearer  that  his 
eyes  winked  with  the  loudness  of  his  song,  as  he  stood  on  tiptoe 
stretching  out  his  long  slender  neck.  And  he  was  withal  so  dis- 
creet a  man  that  we  shall  never  again  find  his  equal  in  wisdom. 
I  have  read  in  stories  of  a  very  famous  cock  who  was  clever 
enough  to  punish  a  man  who  had  injured  him,  but  he  could  not 
be  compared  with  your  father.  Now,  sir,  sing,  I  pray  you,  and 
let  me  judge  if  you  are  really  as  good  as  your  sire.' 


106  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"Chanticleer  was  so  pleased  with  this  flattery  that  he  did  not 
see  what  treachery  lay  hid  in  it.  He  flapped  his  wings,  stood  up 
on  tiptoe,  stretched  out  his  neck,  shut  his  eyes  tight,  and  crowed 
lustily.  But  as  soon  as  he  had  begun,  and  was  intent  on  his 
song,  Master  Russell  the  fox  started  up  and  caught  him  by  the 
throat,  threw  him  over  his  shoulder,  and  ran  off  with  him  to- 
ward the  woods. 

"You  never  heard  such  lamentation  as  was  raised  by  Chanti- 
cleer's wives  when  they  saw  their  lord  carried  off.  Not  even 
when  the  famous  city  of  Troy  was  taken  did  the  mourners  make 
so  great  an  outcry.  Dame  Partlet  lifted  up  her  voice  and  wailed 
more  loudly  than  HasdrubaPs  wife,  who  in  grief  for  her  husband 
threw  herself  into  a  fire  and  was  burnt. 

"The  widow  and  her  two  daughters  heard  the  clamor,  and 
ran  out  from  the  cottage,  just  in  time  to  see  the  fox  bearing  the 
cock  away  to  the  woods.  They  hurried  after  him,  and  all  the 
neighbors  rushed  out  with  sticks  and  stones  to  join  in  the  chase. 
Forth  came  Colle  the  dog,  and  his  friends  Talbot  and  Garland, 
and  Malkin  the  maid,  with  her  distaff  still  in  her  hand.  The 
cow  ran,  the  calf  ran,  and  even  the  very  hogs,  roused  by  the  bark- 
ing of  the  dogs,  the  shouting  of  the  men  and  women,  and  the  din 
of  trumpets  and  horns  and  drums,  trotted  about  squealing  as  if 
their  hearts  would  break.  The  ducks  quacked,  the  geese  in 
terror  flew  away  over  the  tree-tops,  the  swarm  of  bees  came  buzz- 
ing out  of  their  hive.  Jack  Straw  himself  and  his  merry  men 
never  made  such  a  noise  as  arose  when  Chanticleer  the  cock  was 
stolen. 


<r 


But  see  now  how  Fortune  sometimes  overthrows  the  hope  and 
pride  of  victorious  conquerors.     The  cock,  lying  helpless  with 


THE  NUN'S  PRIEST'S  TALE  107 

fear  on  the  fox's  back,  suddenly  bethought  himself  of  a  plan. 
He  began  to  speak  to  Master  Russell. 

"  'Sir,  if  I  were  you  I  should  turn  and  mock  at  those  who  are 
chasing  us,  and  say,  "Go  back,  you  proud  rascals,  and  do  not 
think  to  catch  me.  Look,  here  I  am  at  the  wood-side,  and  now 
the  cock  will  stay  with  me  in  spite  of  all  you  can  do,  plague 
take  you !  and  I  will  surely  eat  him  very  soon.' 

"With  such  words  the  cock  worked  on  the  fox's  vanity,  and  at 
last  succeeded  in  his  wish. 

"  'Faith,  I  will  do  it,'  said  the  fox. 

"With  that  he  made  as  if  to  call  out  to  the  pursuers.  But  no 
sooner  had  he  opened  his  mouth  to  do  so  than  in  a  trice  the  cock 
had  broken  away  from  him,  and  was  perched  up  in  a  tree  safely 
out  of  his  reach. 

"Master  Russell  saw  that  he  had  lost  his  prey,  and  fell  to  his 
old  tricks  again.  'Alas,  Chanticleer!'  he  said;  'I  should  not  have 
made  you  afraid  of  me  at  first,  when  I  took  you  from  your  yard. 
I  vow  I  did  it  with  no  wicked  purpose.  Come  down,  and  I  will 
tell  you  the  whole  truth  about  what  I  really  meant  to  do,  I 
promise  you.' 

"  'No,  no,  Sir  Fox,'  answered  Chanticleer,  more  wary  after  his 

escape.     'You  do  not  deceive  me  twice.     You  shall  not  flatter  me 

into  shutting  my  eyes  and  singing  again.     A  man  who  shuts  his 

^eyes  when  he  ought  to  be  looking  about  him  deserves  to  have  his 

sight  taken  away  from  him. 

"  'Nay,'  answered  the  fox  sadly,  turning  to  flee,  as  Chanti- 
^cleer's  friends  began  to  draw  near:  'if  a  man  talks  when  he  ought 
to  hold  his  peace  he  deserves  to  lose  what  he  has  gained.' 

"Thus  Chanticleer's  dream  came  true,  and  you  can  learn  from 


io8  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

v  <T"*T 

it  what  it  is  to  be  careless  and  easily  flattered.  Thisjs  the  rp^oral 
of  my  story:  Take  the  ripe  grain,  and  let  the  chaff  go.'  Now 
may  Heaven  make  us  all  good  men,  and  bring  us  to  happiness." 

"A  good  tale,  John  Priest,  bless  youl"  said  the  Host.  "The 
Priest  himself  is  very  like  a  fine  cock,  is  he  not?"  he  added,  turn- 
ing to  the  others.  "Look  at  his  deep  chest  and  his  muscles  and 
his  long  neck!  His  eyes,  too,  are  as  keen  as  a  sparrow-hawk's, 
and  as  for  his  color,  he  needs  no  red  dye  to  make  him  brighter  in 
the  face!  Well,  you  have  told  us  a  good  story,  Sir  Priest,  and 
thank  you  for  it!" 

No  more  tales  were  told  that  day.  The  pilgrims  were  now 
quite  close  to  Rochester,  and  there  they  are  said  to  have  stopped 
for  the  night. 


THE  FOURTH  DAY 
SOME  ENGLISH  ROGUES 

AT  the  time  of  this  pilgrimage  the  lower  offices  of  the 
Church  had  in  many  cases  fallen  into  the  hands  of  very 
unworthy  men,  who  lived  by  whatever  they  could  get 
from  the  people  amongst  whom  they  found  themselves ;  and  there 
were  three  classes  especially  who  had  a  bad  name — the  begging 
friars,  the  pardoners,  and  the  summoners. 

The  friars  were  supposed  to  go  about  teaching  and  doing  good, 
and  to  live  on  what  was  honestly  and  freely  given  them;  and  of 
course  many  of  them  were  good  men,  who  really  were  poor, 
and  who  really  did  set  out  to  teach  the  common  people  a  better 
way  of  life.  But  there  were,  perhaps,  as  many  who  were  noth- 
ing of  the  sort,  and  the  Friar  who  joined  our  Canterbury  pil- 
grims seems  to  have  been  one  of  them.  He  was  one  of  those 
who  were  limited  to  a  certain  district,  within  which  they  were 
allowed  to  collect  what  money  they  could,  generally  on  condi- 
tion of  paying  a  fixed  sum  to  the  order  to  which  they  belonged; 
anything  over  that  amount  they  kept  for  themselves.  Others 
went  all  over  the  country  begging  alms  on  any  pretext  they  cared 
to  invent,  using  all  sorts  of  cunning  tricks  to  get  gold,  because 
the  poor  people  were  often  very  ignorant,  and  believed  most  of 
the  lies  that  these  impostors  told. 

'    In  every  village  the  friar  might  be  seen,  with  his  scrip  and 
tipped  staff  and  his  rotes  tucked  up  for  the  road.     He  would 

109 


no  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

poke  and  pry  into  all  the  houses,  and  beg  anything,  even  a 
morsel  of  meal  or  cheese  or  corn.  Sometimes  they  went  in 
couples,  and  one  would  collect  while  the  other  took  down  on  a 
tablet  of  ivory  the  names  of  those  who  gave  anything,  so  that 
he  might  be  able,  so  he  said,  to  reward  them  by  his  prayers. 

"Give  us  a  bushel  of  wheat,  of  malt,  of  rye,"  they  would  ask 
unblushingly,  and  then  go  on  to  beg  for  anything  they  saw — 
"a  little  cake,  or  a  piece  of  cheese.  Just  a  halfpenny  for  a  prayer 
or  two!  Or  let  us  have  a  corner  of  a  blanket,  dear  lady.  Look 
here,  I  write  your  name  on  my  list!  Give  us  some  bacon  or 
beef,  or  anything  you  can  find." 

But  as  soon  as  they  had  left  the  house  the  names  would  be 
rubbed  off  the  tablets,  and  nothing  would  be  left  to  show  for 
their  fine  words  except  their  own  winnings,  which  went  into  a 
large  sack  carried  by  a  servant  who  trudged  patiently  behind 
them.  And  thus,  when  all  the  villagers  had  been  fleeced,  the 
the  parish  parson,  who  really  worked  for  their  good,  would  find  it 
very  hard  to  hold  his  own. 

.  The  pardoners  were  a  bolder  kind  of  rogue.  It  was  believed 
that  pardon  after  death  for  sins  committed  in  life  could  be 
won  by  doing  a  certain  penance,  and  that  part  or  the  whole  of 
this  penance  could  be  exchanged  or  bought  off  for  a  sum  of 
money  down.  Certain  men  were  given  power  by  the  Pope  to  sell 
"pardons"  of  this  kind,  which  by-and-by  were  thought  to  have 
the  power  of  remitting  the  actual  sins  themselves.  But  many  of 
the  pardoners — and  there  were  a  very  great  number  of  them  all 
over  England — had  not  had  leave  given  them  to  carry  on  this 
trade,  and  they  proved  such  rascals  that  the  Pope  himself  had  to 
send  out  letters  warning  people  against  them.  They  imitated 
the  properly  licensed  pardoners,  and  pretended  to  come  from 


SOME  ENGLISH  ROGUES  in 

Rome  with  their  pardons  and  relics  of  the  saints.  As  often  as 
not  most  of  their  story  was  false ;  they  had  never  been  to  Rome, 
and  their  letters  and  pardons  werejorged,  in  spite  of  the  bulky 
rolls  of  parchment  and  the  big  red  seals  which  they  showed  to 
the  people  who  were  foolish  enough  to  believe  them.  They 
would  say  that  old  nails  or  stones  picked  up  from  the  wayside 
had  once  belonged  to  famous  holy  men  of  old,  and  had  the  power 
of  working  cures  of  all  sorts. 

The  Pardoner  who  was  going  with  Harry  Bailly  and  the  rest 
from  Southwark  to  Canterbury  was  very  like  many  of  this  class, 
as  he  showed  his  comrades  later  on  in  the  day. 
•  A  summoner  was  the  officer  whose  duty  it  was  to  summon  men 
before  the  court  of  the  Archdeacon,  who  had  power  to  punish  the 
people  in  his  district  for  offenses  against  religion  or  Church  law, 
or  for  not  paying  their  debts  to  the  clergy.  If  the  summoner  was 
dishonest,  or  the  Archdeacon,  or  both,  the  poor  would  be  badly 
off  indeed.  They  would  be  threatened  with  a  summons  before 
the  court,  and  if  they  did  not  pay  a  heavy  bribe  they  would  most 
likely  be  found  guilty  of  some  trifling  offense,  and  made  to  pay  a 
still  heavier  fine. 

There  was  also  another  kind  of  rascal,  a  layman,  with  whom  a 
district  at  that  time  might  sometimes  be  plagued — the  reeves 
or  bailiffs,  who  were  often  unjust  and  extortionate  rather  tTTah 
downright  cheats.  A  reeve  like  our  friend  Oswald,  who  had 
quarreled  with  the  Miller,  in  his  post  as  steward  or  overseer  to 
a  great  lord  could  easily  find  plenty  of  chances  to  take  bribes  or 
deal  harshly  with  poor  tenants.  Of  course,  not  every  reeve  was 
dishonest,  any  more  than  every  summoner;  but  most  likely  a  good 
many  of  them  were  not  over-particular. 

The  Pardoner,  the  Summoner,  and  the  Friar  played  a  great 


112  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

part  in  the  doings  of  the  fourth  day  of  the  pilgrimage.  But 
the  first  to  be  asked  for  a  story  when  the  company  set  out  that 
morning  from  Rochester  was  the  Doctor  of  Medicine. 

"Worshipful  master  physician,"  said  the  Host,  turning  to  him, 
"I  pray  you  tell  us  a  good  tale." 

"That  I  will,  if  you  will  listen  to  me,"  answered  the  Doctor, 
"Here  is  a  tale  which  I  once  read  in  a  history  of  the  olden  times." 

Therewith  he  began  a  story  of  ancient  Rome. 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  TALE 
VIRGINIA 

\ 

THERE  was  once  a  knight  named  Virginius,  a  man  of 
honor  and  repute,  blessed  with  many  friends  and  great 
riches.  He  had  but  one  child,  a  daughter,  Virginia  by 
name,  fairer  than  all  other  maidens  of  her  time.  It  seemed  as  if 
Nature  had  been  at  pains  to  form  her  perfect  in  every  way,  so  as 
to  say,  'Thus  can  I  make  my  creatures  when  it  pleases  me.  Who 
can  do  better?' 

"To  see  Virginia  was  like  looking  upon  roses  and  lilies,  and 
her  hair  shone  like  the  bright  beams  of  the  sun  himself.  And  if 
her  beauty  was  great,  greater  still  was  her  goodness.  She  was 
worthy  of  her  high  birth ;  all  her  words  and  deeds  made  for  virtue 
and  nobility,  and  she  shunned  always  the  company  of  the  foolish 
and  careless,  being  industrious  and  right-hearted. 

"There  was  a  certain  judge  in  the  town  where  she  lived  named 
Appius,  the  governor  of  that  district.  It  chanced  that  one  day, 
as  Virginia  passed  by  him  in  the  street,  his  eye  fell  on  her,  and 
he  was  so  taken  with  her  beauty  that  he  swore  in  his  heart  to  make 
her  his  wife.  But  Virginia,  when  she  heard  of  his  wishes,  would 
have  none  of  him,  for  she  knew  him  to  be  wicked  and  unjust 

"When  Appius  found  that  she  did  not  care  for  him,  but  rather 
hated  him  more,  his  desire  was  only  increased.  Evil  thoughts 
came  into  his  heart,  and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  get  her  into  his 
power  by  foul  means, 


ii4  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"Force  alone  would  not  avail,  for  Virginius  was  powerful, 
and  had  many  great  men  among  his  friends.  Appius  therefore 
had  recourse  to  a  cruel  and  cunning  plan  to  gain  his  ends.  He 
sent  for  a  dependent  of  his  called  Claudius,  a  man  whom  he 
knew  to  be  bold  and  crafty,  willing  to  tell  any  lie  if  well  paid  for 
it.  Together  they  made  a  plot  to  take  Virginia  by  treachery 
away  from  her  father;  and  when  they  had  agreed  what  to  do,  the 
villain  went  away  to  carry  out  his  part. 

"A  little  while  afterwards  Appius  was  sitting  in  his  court  of 
justice  to  try  any  cases  that  were  sent  before  him.  Suddenly  this 
false  rogue  Claudius  came  in  with  the  lying  story  which  they  had 
planned  together. 

"  'My  lord/  he  cried,  'I  claim  justice  against  one  Virginius,  a 
knight  of  this  town.  I  can  prove  my  claim  by  witnesses.' 

"  'I  cannot  give  my  judgment  in  his  absence,'  said  Appius. 
'Let  Virginius  be  called,  and  I  will  gladly  hear  you.  If  he  has 
done  you  any  wrong,  you  shall  surely  be  righted.  There  is  no 
injustice  done  in  this  court.' 

"Virginius  was  sent  for,  and  came  in  haste  to  hear  what  was 
amiss,  and  the  charge  was  brought  against  him  just  as  Appius 
and  Claudius  had  agreed. 

"  'This  knight,  Virginius,  my  lord,'  said  Claudius,  'against  all 
law  and  all  justice,  has  stolen  a  female  slave  who  is  mine  by 
right.  She  was  taken  from  my  house  by  night  when  she  was  but 
a  child,  and  Virginius  still  keeps  her,  pretending  that  she  is  his 
daughter.  I  can  prove  by  witnesses  that  she  is  not  his  daughter, 
by  my  slave.  I  beseech  you  to  get  her  back  for  me,  my 
lord.' 

"Virginius  looked  at  the  man  in  amazement.  But  before  he 
could  say  anything,  or  try  to  call  his  witnesses  (for  of  course  he 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  TALE  115 

could  have  proved  the  charge  false),  Appius  hastened  to  give 
judgment,  cutting  him  short  without  hearing  another  word. 

"  'I  judge  that  the  girl  belongs  to  Claudius,'  he  said,  'and  she 
must  no  longer  stay  in  the  household  of  Virginius.  Go  and  bring 
her  forth,  and  give  her  into  my  charge.  This  fellow  shall  have 
his  slave  back.' 

"Virginius  saw  that  his  daughter  must  be  given  up,  and  that 
she  would  be  in  the  power  of  the  wicked  judge  for  a  time,  at 
least  until  he  could  get  justice  done  by  the  aid  of  his  powerful 
friends;  and  he  thought  that  anything  would  be  better  than  the 
shame  she  would  endure  at  the  hands  of  Appius.  His  mind  was 
soon  made  up.  He  went  home,  and  sat  down  in  his  hall,  and 
called  Virginia  to  him.  As  he  spoke  to  her,  his  face  was  the 
hue  of  cold,  dead  ashes,  and  great  pity  rose  up  in  his  heart,  though 
he  would  not  swerve  from  the  purpose  on  which  he  was  now 
bent. 

"  'Daughter,'  he  said,  'you  must  suffer  one  of  two  things — • 
shame  or  death.  Either  you  must  be  given  up  to  Appius  the 
judge,  and  be  in  his  power,  or  you  must  die.  Dear  daughter, 
whom  I  have  brought  up  so  tenderly,  and  borne  ever  in  my  mind, 
my  last  joy  and  my  last  sorrow  in  life,  choose  death  of  these  two. 
Alas  that  Appius  ever  saw  you!' 

"Then  he  told  her  the  whole  story  of  the  false  charge  and  the 
judgment  of  Appius. 

"  'Mercy,  dear  father,'  cried  she  at  the  end,  throwing  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  the  tears  streaming  from  her  eyes.  'Must  I 
die?  Is  there  no  escape?' 

"  'None,  my  daughter.' 

"After  a  little,  when  she  had  mourned  awhile,  she  said :  'Give 
me  death,  and  save  me  from  shame.  Do  with  your  child  as  you 


n6  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

will.'  And  she  prayed  him  to  strike  her  gently  with  his 
sword. 

"Then  her  father  cut  off  her  head,  and  took  it  to  the  court,  and 
gave  it  to  Appius  there  before  the  whole  assembly.  When 
Appius  saw  it,  he  ordered  the  knight  to  be  seized  and  hanged 
there  and  then.  But  the  people  rose  at  this  command,  and  a 
great  crowd  broke  into  the  place  and  set  Virginius  free. 

"When  the  news  of  what  had  happened  spread  over  the  city, 
suspicion  was  soon  roused,  because  Claudius  was  known  to  be  in 
the  pay  of  Appius ;  and  in  a  little  while  the  whole  plot  was  found 
out.  Appius  was  cast  into  prison,  where  he  slew  himself  through 
fear  of  what  might  be  done  to  him.  Claudius  also  was  taken, 
and  would  have  been  hanged  if  Virginius  had  not  nobly  begged 
that  his  sentence  should  be  changed  into  one  of  exile  for  the  rest  of 
his  life.  The  rest  of  the  conspirators,  who  had  plotted  to  sup- 
port Claudius'  claim  by  false  witness,  were  all  hanged." 


A  GENTLE  PARDONER  OF  ROUNCIVAL 

THUS  do  we  see,"  said  the  Physician  at  the  end  of  his 
tale,  "how  sin  will  be  found  out  and  meet  with  its  re- 
ward.    Take  this  counsel  from  my  tale:     'Leave  your  sins,  ere 
they  themselves  leave  you  in  the  lurch.' ' 

"Alas!"  cried  the  Host,  in  a  rage,  "what  a  false  rascal  Clau- 
dius was,  and  what  a  false  judge!  Virginia  paid  too  dear  for  her 
beauty.  It  is  what  I  am  always  saying— the  gifts  of  fortune 
or  of  nature  may  bring  great  sorrow  or  may  even  be  the  cause 
of  death  to  those  who  have  them.  Truly  that  was  a  pitiful  tale 
to  hear.  Good  Master  Physician,  you  will  have  to  use  all  your 


A  GENTLE  PARDONER  OF  ROUNCIVAL  117 

medicine  to  set  me  up  in  health  again,  if  I  do  not  at  once  hear 
some  merry  story.  Now,  Sir  Pardoner,  tell  us  a  tale  of  mirth." 
c^he  Pardoner  was  one  whose  match  you  could  not  find  in 
all  England,  from  Berwick  to  Ware.  He  had  a  voice  like  a 
goat's ;  his  eyes  were  staring  out  of  his  head  like  a  hare's,  and  his 
chin  had  no  beard,  nor  ever  would  have ;  it  was  as  smooth  as  if 
it  had  just  been  shaved.  He  wore  no  hood,  but  only  a  little  cap, 
so  that  his  lank  hair,  yellow  as  wax,  hung  disheveled  over  his 
shoulders  in  long  thin  tails.  He  had  a  vernicle — a  kind  of  token 
worn  by  those  who  had  been  to  Rome — sewed  in  his  cap,  and  he 
thought  himself  dressed  in  quite  the  newest  fashion. 

His  wallet  lay  in  his  lap  before  him,  brimful  of  pardons  all 
hot  from  Rome.  In  his  hand  he  bore  a  pewter  cross  set  with 
jewels,  and  he  always  carried  with  him  pebbles  and  bones  and 
the  like,  which  he  said  were  relics  able  to  work  miracles.  If 
ever  he  found  some  poor  man  who  lived  by  his  own  labor  on  his 
scanty  farm,  he  would  wheedle  more  money  out  of  him  in  a  day 
with  the  help  of  these  relics  than  the  parish  parson  could  get 
from  him  in  a  couple  of  months.  He  be-fooled  parson  and  peo- 
ple alike  with  pretended  flattery  and  jests.  But  it  was  in  church 
that  he  was  seen  at  his  best.  He  could  read  a  lesson  well,  and 
would  sing  out  merrily  and  loudly,  knowing  that  after  it  he 
must  make  his  tongue  smooth  to  preach  a  begging  sermon,  to  get 
as  much  money  as  he  could. 

"I  will  tell  you  a  merry  tale,"  said  he  in  answer  to  the  Host. 
"But  here  is  an  ale-stake.  I  must  stop  and  drink  some  ale  and 
eat  a  cake  first,  and  when  I  am  refreshed  I  will  tell  you  a 
story." 

They  were  passing  a  small  wayside  inn  as  he  spoke.  It  was 
called  an  "ale-stake"  because  it  was  the  custom  to  show  the  busi- 


u8  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

ness  of  the  house  by  means  of  a  long  stake  or  pole,  which  stuck 
out  straight  from  the  wall  over  the  road,  parallel  with  the 
ground,  with  a  bush  or  a  bunch  of  leaves  or  a  garland  fastened 
at  the  end  by  way  of  a  sign. 

The  rest  of  the  company  cried  out  against  any  more  rude  jests 
such  as  the  Miller's  and  the  Reeve's  tales. 

"Tell  us  some  honest  tale,"  they  said,  "from  which  we  may 
learn  something,  and  then  we  will  listen." 

"I  grant  it,"  answered  the  Pardoner;  "but  I  must  have  time  to 
think  of  a  proper  story." 

So  the  pilgrims  stopped,  and  the  Pardoner  had  his  cakes  and 
ale.  The  refreshment  seemed  to  loosen  his  tongue,  for  before 
he  began  his  story  he  let  out  a  great  many  tricks  and  secrets  of 
his  trade. 

"You  must  know,  sirs,"  he  said,  "that  when  I  preach  my  voice 
rings  out  loud  and  clear  like  a  bell,  for  I  know  by  heart  all  that 
I  have  to  say.  My  text  was  and  is  always  the  same — 'Greed  is 
the  root  of  all  evil.'  I  tell  the  people  whence  I  come,  showing 
the  letters  which  give  me  my  authority,  and  talking  at  large  about 
popes  and  cardinals  and  patriarchs;  I  add  a  few  words  in 
Latin,  just  to  flavor  my  discourse,  and  then  I  bring  out  my 
relics  of  the  saints,  promising  all  kinds  of  good  from  them. 
If  a  man  puts  his  hand  in  this  mitten,  which  once  belonged-  to 
such-and-such  a  martyr,  I  cry,  his  crops  shall  prosper.  Or  I 
show  them  a  shoulder-bone  taken  from  some  Jew's  sheep. 
'Good  men,'  I  say  to  them,  'if  your  oxen  fall  ill  of  a  snake-bite, 
wash  this  bone  in  a  well,  and  pour  a  little  of  the  water  on  their 
tongues,  and  they  shall  be  healed.  And  if  the  goodman  of  the 
house  fasts  until  cock-crow,  let  him  then  drink  the  water  of  that 
well,  and  all  his  cattle  will  increase  and  multiply.  Or  if  any 


A  GENTLE  PARDONER  OF  ROUNCIVAL  119 

of  you  have  done  any  great  sin,  I  have  pardons  here  for  them.* 
By  such  means  as  this  I  have  won  a  hundred  marks  *  or  so  every 
year  since  first  I  became  a  pardoner.  I  stand  up  in  my  pulpit, 
and  stretch  out  my  neck  over  the  people  who  sit  below,  nodding 
at  them  like  a  dove  on  the  roof  of  a  barn.  Then  I  tell  them  all 
these  stories  about  my  relics,  and  warn  them  that  greed  is  the 
root  of  all  evil,  my  arms  and  my  tongue  wagging  so  fast  that  it 
is  a  joy  to  see  me;  and  thus  I  persuade  them  to  yield  up  their 
pence  to  me  instead  of  saving  and  hoarding.  If  anyone  has 
offended  me  or  my  fellow-pardoners,  I  lash  him  well  with  my 
tongue  from  the  pulpit,  taking  my  revenge  under  cover  of  pious 
advice.  I  only  want  men's  money,  and  give  no  thought  to  the  - 
forgiveness  of  their  sins  as  long  as  my  greed  is  satisfied.  Of 
course,  I  am  guilty  of  avarice  myself,  but  I  prevent  others  from 
it,  for  my  text  is  always  the  same,  with  old  stories  worked  in  to 
make  it  clear.  And  what  if  I  do  cheat  people?  Would  you 
have  me  remain  poor  when  I  can  get  silver  and  gold  by  my 
preaching?  No,  I  will  do  no  labor  with  my  hands.  I  will  not 
beg  idly;  I  must  have  money,  clothes,  cheese,  wheat,  even  if  I 
have  to  get  them  from  the  poorest  widow  in  a  village,  whose 
children  may  be  starving  with  hunger.  But  you  wish  me  to  tell 
you  a  story,  sirs,  and  I  hope  I  shall  tell  you  one  to  your  liking; 
for  though  I  like  an  evil  life,  I  can  yet  give  you  a  good  tale,  with 
my  text  for  a  moral — 'Greed  is  the  root  of  all  evil.'  Now  hold 
your  peace,  and  I  will  begin." 

*A  coin  worth  about 


THE  PARDONER'S  TALE 
THE  THREE  REVELERS  AND  DEATH 

THERE  was  once  in  Flanders  a  company  of  young  men 
who  spent  much  time  in  drinking  and  rioting  among 
the  taverns,  wasting  their  lives  in  gambling  and  danc- 
ing day  and  night.  Such  men  only  come  to  a  bad  end,  and  I 
could  give  you  many  a  story  to  prove  it." 

The  Pardoner  was  unable  to  forget  his  business.  He  broke 
off  to  warn  the  pilgrims  at  great  length  about  the  wickedness  of 
evil  living.  When  he  had  said  enough  on  the  point  he  went  on 
gravely  and  soberly: 

aNow  to  my  story.  I  will  tell  you  of  a  certain  three  of  these 
revelers,  who  were  the  worst  of  all  the  band. 

"Early  one  morning  these  three  were  sitting  in  a  tavern  drink- 
ing, and  making  a  great  noise  with  their  horrible  oaths.  As  they 
talked  idly  to  one  another,  they  heard  a  bell  tolling  outside  for  a 
dead  man  who  was  about  to  be  buried. 

"  'Run  quickly,'  one  of  them  called  to  his  servant-boy,  'and  ask 
the  name  of  the  man  whose  body  is  being  carried  out  to  burial. 
Take  care  to  tell  it  us  aright.' 

"  'I  need  not  go,  sirs,'  answered  the  boy.  'I  heard  two  hour? 
before  you  came  here  that  this  man  who  is  now  dead  was  an  old 
comrade  of  yours,  slain  last  night  as  he  lay  in  a  drunken  sleep. 
There  came  to  him  a  stealthy  old  thief  named  Death,  who  kills 
many  folk  in  this  country;  he  pierced  your  comrade's  heart  with 


1 20 


THE  PARDONER'S  TALE  121 

a  spear,  and  went  his  way  without  a  word.  He  has  slain  a  thou- 
sand or  more  in  the  pestilence  here.  I  think  it  would  be  well  for 
you,  my  masters,  to  beware  of  coming  into  the  presence  of  such  a 
foe,  and  to  be  ready  to  meet  him.'  A 

"  'Yes/  said  the  keeper  of  the  tavern,  'the  boy  speaks  truly. 
Death  has  this  year  slain  men,  women,  and  children,  pages  and 
peasants,  throughout  the  whole  of  a  great  village  a  mile  from 
here.  I  think  he  dwells  in  that  place.  It  would  be  wise  to  be 
prepared  before  he  does  one  any  evil.' 

"  'Is  it  so  great  a  danger  to  meet  him,  then?'  cried  one  of  the 
revelers  with  an  oath.  'I  will  go  myself,  and  seek  him  high  and 
low  in  the  streets  and  lanes.  Listen,  comrades:  there  are  three 
of  us ;  let  us  join  together  and  slay  this  false  traitor  Death.  We 
will  swear  to  be  true  to  one  another,  and  before  night-time  we 
will  slay  him  who  kills  so  many  others.' 

"The  other  two  agreed,  and  the  three  swore  to  be  to  one  another 
as  brothers.  Up  they  started,  and  went  forth  towards  the  village 
where  Death  was  said  by  the  innkeeper  to  live. 

"  'Death  shall  die,'  they  cried,  with  many  a  boastful  oath,  'if 
we  once  lay  hold  of  him!' 

"They  had  not  gone  half  a  mile  on  their  way  when  they  met 
an  old,  poor-looking  man,  who  greeted  them  meekly  and  bade 
them  God-speed. 

"  'Who  are  you,  you  ragged  old  beggar?'  cried  the  proudest  of 
the  rioters  to  him.  'Why  are  you  so  well  wrapped  up,  except 
for  your  face?  Why  is  an  old  man  like  you  allowed  to  live  so 
long?' 

"The  old  man  looked  him  in  the  face,  and  said :  'I  must  needs 
keep  my  old  age  myself.  I  can  find  no  man  anywhere — no,  not 
even  if  I  walked  to  India — who  would  exchange  his  youth  for 


122  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

my  age.  Death  himself  refuses  to  take  my  life.  So  I  walk  rest- 
lessly up  and  down  the  world,  old  and  weary,  tapping  the  ground 
with  my  staff  early  and  late,  and  begging  Mother  Earth  to  take 
me  to  her  again.  "Look  how  I  am  slowly  vanishing,"  I  cry  to 
her;  "I  feel  myself  wasting,  flesh  and  skin  and  blood  and  all. 
Receive  me  into  the  dust  again,  Mother  Earth,  for  my  bones  are 
tired."  But  the  earth  will  not  hear  my  prayer  yet,  and  I  must 
wander  on.  I  beseech  you,  therefore,  do  not  harm  an  old  man, 
good  sirs,  and  may  the  blessing  of  Heaven  be  upon  youP 

"  'Nay,  old  churl,-  said  one  of  the  revelers,  'you  shall  not  get 
off  so  lightly.  You  spoke  just  now  of  the  traitor  Death,  who 
slays  all  our  friends  in  this  district.  Tell  us  where  he  is  to  be 
seen,  or  you  shall  rue  it.  I  believe  that  you  must  be  one  of  his 
friends  yourself,  and  anxious  to  slay  us  young  folk,  since  you  talk 
so  lovingly  of  him.' 

"  'Sirs,'  answered  the  old  man,  'if  you  are  so  eager  to  find 
Death,  turn  up  this  crooked  path.  In  that  grove  yonder,  upon 
my  faith,  I  left  him,  under  a  tree.  There  he  will  await  you.  He 
will  not  hide  himself  from  you  for  all  your  boasts.  Do  you  see 
the  oak?  You  shall  find  Death  there.  God  save  you  and  make 
you  better  men  P 

"Thus  spoke  the  old  stranger.  They  paid  no  more  heed  to 
him,  but  ran  off  straightway  to  search  for  Death  by  the  oak-tree. 
There  they  found,  not  Death  himself,  but  a  great  heap  of  fine 
golden  florins  piled  up,  well-nigh  eight  bushels  of  them.  No 
longer  had  they  any  thought  about  Death,  but  were  so  glad  at  the 
sight  of  the  fair  bright  florins  that  they  sat  down  there  by  the 
precious  heap  to  think  what  should  be  done. 

"The  worst  of  the  three  was  the  first  to  speak.  'Listen  to  me, 
brethren.  I  am  no  fool,  for  all  that  I  spend  my  life  in  folly. 


THE  PARDONER'S  TALE  123 

Fortune  has  given  us  this  great  treasure,  so  that  we  can  live  the 
rest  of  our  lives  in  mirth  and  jollity.  It  has  come  to  us  easily, 
and  easily  we  will  spend  it.  But  there  is  one  thing  which  we 
must  do  to  make  our  happiness  sure:  we  must  get  the  gold  away 
from  this  place  to  my  house,  or  else  to  one  of  yours — for,  of 
course,  the  treasure  is  ours.  But  we  cannot  do  this  by  day;  men 
would  say  that  we  were  thieves,  and  we  should  be  hanged  for 
stealing  our  own  treasure.  It  must  be  done  by  night,  as  secretly 
and  carefully  as  we  can,  and  we  must  wait  here  all  day.  Let  us 
therefore  draw  lots,  to  see  which  of  us  shall  go  to  the  town  and 
bring  food  and  drink  hither  as  quickly  as  he  can  for  the  other 
two.  The  others  must  stay  by  the  treasure,  for  we  cannot  leave 
it  unguarded.  Then,  when  night  comes,  we  will  carry  it  all 
away  safely.' 

'They  agreed  to  this,  and  drew  lots.  The  lot  fell  on  the  young- 
est of  them,  who  left  them  at  once  and  went  towards  the 
town. 

"As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  one  of  those  who  remained  with  the 
gold  said  to  the  other :  'You  know  that  we  have  sworn  to  be  true 
to  one  another  like  brothers.  Hear,  then,  how  we  can  win  profit 
for  ourselves:  our  comrade  is  gone,  and  has  left  us  here  with  this 
gold,  of  which  there  is  great  plenty.  We  are  to  divide  it  among 
the  three  of  us,  by  our  agreement.  But  if  I  can  contrive  that  we 
divide  it  between  us  two  alone,  will  not  that  be  doing  you  a 
friendly  turn?' 

"  'How  can  it  be?'  asked  the  other.  'He  knows  that  the  gold 
is  with  us ;  what  could  we  say  to  him?' 

"  'Will  you  keep  a  secret?'  said  his  comrade.  *If  so,  I  will  tell 
you  in  a  few  words  what  we  must  do.' 

Tes,'  answered  the  other ;  'trust  me  not  to  betray  you.' 


u  r 


124  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"  'Look  you,  then,  there  are  two  of  us,  and  two  are  stronger 
than  one.  When  he  comes  back  and  sits  down,  do  you  rise  and 
go  to  him  as  if  for  a  friendly  wrestling  bout.  I  will  stab  him  in 
the  side  as  you  struggle  in  play:  see  that  you  also  do  the  like  with 
your  dagger.  Thus  shall  the  treasure  be  divided  between  us  two, 
dear  friend,  and  we  shall  live  in  ease  and  plenty  for  the  rest  of  our 
lives.' 

"The  two  rogues  agreed  on  this  plan  for  getting  rid  of  their 
comrade ;  but  he,  as  he  went  on  his  way  to  the  town,  could  not  take 
his  mind  away  from  the  bright  golden  florins. 

"  'If  only  I  could  have  this  treasure  all  for  myself,'  he  thought, 
'no  man  on  earth  would  live  so  merrily  as  I.'  And  at  last  the  idea 
of  poisoning  his  comrades  came  into  his  head. 

"When  he  reached  the  town,  he  went  without  hesitating  any 
more  to  an  apothecary,  and  asked  him  to  sell  him  some  poison  to 
kill  the  rats  in  his  house;  and  there  was  a  polecat  also,  he  said, 
which  ate  his  chickens. 

"  'You  shall  have  the  poison,'  answered  the  apothecary,  'the 
like  of  which  is  not  to  be  found  on  earth.  It  is  so  strong  that  if 
a  man  does  but  taste  a  little  piece  of  it,  the  size  of  a  grain  of  wheat, 
he  shall  die  at  once;  before  you  can  walk  a  mile  he  will  be  dead, 
so  strong  and  violent  is  this  poison.' 

"The  man  took  the  poison  in  a  box  and  went  into  the  next 
street.  There  he  borrowed  three  large  bottles,  and  into  two  he 
put  the  poison ;  the  third  he  kept  clean  for  his  own  drink,  think- 
ing that  he  would  be  working  hard  that  night,  carrying  the  gold 
all  by  himself  to  his  own  house.  Then  he  filled  all  the  bottles  up 
with  wine,  and  went  back  to  his  comrades. 

"Why  should  I  make  a  long  tale  of  it?  When  he  came  back 
the  other  two  set  upon  him,  and  killed  him  as  they  had  planned. 


"WHO'LL  BUY  MY  PARDONS?'  125 

"  'Now  let  us  eat  and  drink,'  said  one  to  the  other.  'When  we 
have  made  merry  we  will  bury  him.' 

"With  that  word,  he  took  one  of  the  bottles ;  it  happened  to  be 
one  of  those  containing  the  poisoned  wine.  He  drank,  and  gave 
it  to  his  fellow ;  and  in  a  little  while  they  both  fell  dead  beside 
the  body  of  their  comrade. 

"Thus  the  three  revelers  met  Death,  whom  they  set  out  to 
kill." 


"WHO'LL  BUY  MY  PARDONS?" 

GOOD  Men,"  the  Pardoner  went  on,  not  missing  any  chance 
of  plying  his  trade  and  wringing  a  few  pence  out  of  his 
companions,  "you  have  heard  my  tale,  which  deals,  as  you  have 
seen,  with  the  sin  of  covetousness.  What  a  terrible  thing  is  avar- 
ice! May  Heaven  keep  you  from  it!  Yet  my  pardons  will  save 
you  all,  if  you  will  but  give  me  your  nobles  *  for  them.  Or,  if 
you  do  not  wish  to  give  money,  your  silver  brooches  or  spoons  or 
rings  will  serve  as  well  for  payment.  Come,  then,  bow  before 
the  power  which  has  been  given  me.  I  will  not  deceive  you, 
but  will  enter  your  names  in  my  roll,  so  that  in  return  you  will 
be  sure  of  the  bliss  of  Heaven.  But  I  am  forgetting  one  other 
thing:  I  would  have  you  know  that  here  in  my  bag  I  have  relics 
as  good  as  any  in  the  land,  given  me  by  the  Pope  himself.  If 
any  of  you,  then,  wish  to  make  an  offering  and  receive  forgive- 
ness from  me,  come  forth  and  kneel  down,  and  be  pardoned  here. 
Nay,  if  you  prefer  it,  you  can  take  a  pardon  at  every  town  we 
come  to,  all  new  and  fresh,  so  long  as  you  give  me  your  nobles 
and  pence.  It  is  an  honor  for  every  one  of  you  to  have  so  good 

*A  coin  worth  $1.60 


126  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

a  Pardoner  with  you,  to  forgive  your  sins  on  the  way  whenever 
you  wish  it;  and  think  how  terrible  a  thing  it  would  be  if  any 
one  of  you  were  to  fall  from  his  horse  and  break  his  neck,  and 
die  unpardoned!  Now  for  it!  Our  Host  shall  be  the  first,  for 
he  is  the  most  wrapped  up  in  sin.  Stand  forth,  Sir  Host!  Give 
me  your  offering,  and  for  a  groat  you  shall  kiss  the  relics,  every 
one  of  them.  Open  your  purse!" 

"No,"  cried  the  Host,  "I  will  have  none  of  your  false  relics. 
You  would  swear  a  rag  of  your  old  clothes  had  belonged  to  some 
saint,  and  make  me  kiss  it." 

The  Pardoner  answered  never  a  word,  but  rode  on  speechless 
with  anger. 

"I  will  keep  company  with  you  no  longer,"  the  Host  went  on, 
seeing  his  wrath,  "nor  with  any  other  angry  man." 

But  the  good  Knight  interposed,  seeing  that  all  the  pilgrims 
were  laughing  at  the  dispute. 

"No  more  of  this,"  said  he;  "that  is  enough.  Sir  Pardoner, 
be  glad  and  merry  once  more,  and  you,  my  very  good  friend,  Sir 
Host,  make  peace  with  the  Pardoner,  and  let  us  go  on  our  journey 
once  more  with  joy  and  laughter." 

So  the  two  made  up  their  quarrel,  and  the  pilgrims  went  on 
their  way  peaceably  for  a  little  while. 

DAME  ALISON  OF  BATH 

THE  little  company  had  ridden  some  way  without  interrup- 
tion, when  suddenly  the  Wife  of  Bath  broke  the  silence. 
"I  will  tell  next,"  she  said  in  a  loud  voice,  being  herself  a  little 
deaf. 
The  good  wife  had  journeyed  far  from  her  home  in  the  West 


DAME  ALISON  OF  BATH  127 

Country,  where  she  was  famous  for  her  skill  in  making  fine 
cloth  such  as  that  part  of  England  manufactured.  She  knew  a 
great  deal  about  traveling,  for  she  had  seen  many  a  distant  land 
and  noble  city.  She  had  visited  Boulogne,  Cologne,  Rome,  and 
Spain,  and  had  been  as  far  as  Jerusalem  three  times.  She  was  a 
good  and  worthy  woman,  well  pleased  with  herself  and  charita- 
bly-minded, unless  her  neighbors  tried  to  set  themselves  above 
her  or  take  precedence  of  her  at  church;  if  they  did  that,  she  : 
grew  so  angry  that  she  forgot  all  her  Christian  charity. 

She  was  gayly  dressed  for  the  pilgrimage,  with  bright  scarlet 
hose  and  head-kerchiefs  of  the  finest  linen,  weighing,  perhaps, 
some  ten  pounds  or  more.  Her  shoes,  too,  were  soft  and  new, 
and  she  wore  a  large  riding  skirt. 

She  had  been  married  five  times,  she  now  told  the  pilgrims, 
by  way  of  introduction  to  her  tale.  She  had  done  with  all  her 
husbands  just  as  she  wished,  but  the  fifth,  a  student  from  Oxford, 
put  her  to  some  pains  before  she  subdued  him.  He  was  always 
poring  over  books,  she  said,  and  now  and  again  would  read  out 
aloud  to  her  a  story  about  the  wickedness  of  some  woman.  But 
one  day  when  he  did  this  she  lost  her  temper,  and  tore  some  leaves 
out  of  his  book,  and  caught  him  such  a  buffet  that  he  fell  off 
his  stool  into  the  fireplace;  whereupon  he  got  up  in  a  rage  and 
knocked  her  down.  When,  however,  he  saw  that  she  lay  quite 
still,  as  if  dead,  he  was  sorry,  and  knelt  down  by  her  side  and 
begged  her  forgiveness.  But  she  started  up  out  of  her  swoon  and 
hit  him  a  great  blow  on  the  side  of  the  head,  and  ever  after  that 
she  had  no  more  trouble  with  him. 

All  this  she  told  the  pilgrims  at  great  length,  without  ever 
coming  near  her  story,  and  the  whole  burden  of  her  talk  was  the 
way  to  rule  a  husband.  The  Friar  at  last  grew  impatient. 


128  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"Now,  dame,"  said  he,  "this  is  a  roundabout  way  to  tell  a  tale." 

There  was  no  love  lost  between  this  Friar  and  the  Summoner. 
The  Friar  was  a  good  man  at  his  own  trade  of  begging — a  jolly 
rascal  who  could  wring  money  out  of  anyone.  Besides,  he  was 
an  authorized  beggar,  so  to  speak,  so  that  he  looked  with  dislike 
and  contempt  on  such  persons  as  the  Pardoner,  his  great  rival 
in  the  collection  of  alms.  The  Summoner  was  the  Pardoner's 
great  friend,  and  himself  something  of  a  rascal,  so  that  he  prob- 
ably felt  much  the  same  hatred  towards  the  Friar  as  the  Par- 
doner did,  and  he  did  not  let  slip  any  chance  of  jeering  at  his 
enemy. 

"Roundabout!"  he  cried.  "However  long  the  way  is,  you  will 
always  find  a  meddling  friar  somewhere.  Now,  Sir  Friar,  trot 
on,  or  stop  and  rest,  or  go  where  you  please,  but  do  not  check  our 
merriment." 

"I  check  your  merriment,  Sir  Summoner?"  said  the  Friar,  lisp- 
ing a  little  in  his  speech,  as  was  his  habit,  in  order  to  make  his 
English  sound  sweet.  "By  my  faith!  before  I  leave  you  I  will 
tell  a  tale  about  a  summoner  which  will  give  all  this  company 
good  enough  cause  for  merriment." 

"Before  we  reach  Sittingbourne,"  retorted  the  Summoner,  "I 
will  tell  two  or  three  tales  about  friars  which  will  make  you  sorry 
that  you  have  lost  your  patience  thus." 

But  the  Host  stopped  the  quarrel.  "Peace !"  he  cried ;  "let  the 
good-wife  tell  her  tale.  Speak  on,  dame." 

"I  am  ready,  sir,"  said  Dame  Alison.  "I  will  do  your  bidding 
— if  the  worthy  Friar  will  give  me  leave,"  she  added,  not  liking 
the  interruption. 

"Yes,  dame,  tell  on,"  answered  the  Friar;  "I  will  listen 
quietly." 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH'S  TALE 
THE  OLD  WOMAN  AND  THE  KNIGHT 

IN  the  old  days  of  King  Arthur  all  the  land  was  filled  with 
fairies,  and  the  elf-queen  and  her  merry  company  held  many 
a  dance  in  the  green  meadows  where  now  you  will  see  never 
one  of  them.  But  that  was  many  hundred  years  ago,  as  I  am 
told,  and  since  then  the  friars  -have  spread  over  all  the  land  as 
thick  as  motes  in  a  sunbeam,  searching  and  sniffing  in  every  nook 
and  corner  till  there  is  not  a  fairy  left.  Wherever  the  elves  were 
once  wont  to  walk  you  will  now  meet  friars  peering  and  poking 
into  every  hole  and  cranny,  morning  and  evening. 

"It  happened  that  there  was  at  King  Arthur's  Court  a  young 
knight,  in  the  full  vigor  and  pride  of  his  strength,  who  one  day, 
as  he  was  riding  out,  came  upon  a  maiden  walking  all  alone.  She 
was  very  beautiful,  and  the  sight  of  her  made  him  forget  his 
knighthood.  He  went  up  to  her,  and  tried  to  carry  her  off  with 
him  by  force.  But  before  he  could  succeed  help  came,  and  he 
was  seized  and  taken  before  the  King. 

"The  King  sentenced  him  to  die,  according  to  the  law  at  that 
time,  and  he  would  surely  have  been  put  to  death  if  the  Queen 
and  her  ladies  had  not  long  and  earnestly  prayed  for  mercy.  The 
King  at  last  relented  and  granted  him  his  life,  and  left  it  to  the 
Queen  to  say  what  punishment  should  be  given  him. 

"When  the  Queen  had  thanked  King  Arthur  she  sent  for  the 

knight.     She  did  not  wish  to  let  him  go  wholly  free. 

129 


130  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"  'You  are  still  in  danger  of  losing  your  life,'  she  said  to  him. 
'But  I  will  give  you  your  freedom  on  one  condition:  you  must 
find  me  the  answer  to  this  question — "What  is  it  that  women  most 
desire?"  If  you  cannot  now  give  me  the  answer  that  I  have  in 
my  mind,  you  shall  have  a  year  and  a  day  in  which  to  learn  it. 
Do  your  best,  and  take  great  care,  for  if  at  the  end  of  that  time 
you  still  cannot  answer,  you  must  die.' 

"The  knight  pondered  awhile,  but  he  could  not  guess  the  an- 
swer at  once.  So  he  pledged  himself  to  return  to  the  Court  at 
the  end  of  a  year  and  a  day,  and  went  away  very  sorrowfully. 

"How  was  he  to  find  the  answer  to  the  riddle?  He  thought 
for  a  long  time  by  himself,  and  then  asked  everyone  he  met  what 
it  was  that  women  loved  best.  But  nowhere  could  he  discover 
two  people  who  agreed  in  saying  the  same  thing.  Some  told 
him  the  answer  was  Honor;  some,  Riches;  others,  Fine  Clothing; 
others,  again,  Flattery.  But  none  of  these  replies  pleased  the 
knight,  and  he  could  not  guess  anyhow  what  it  was  that  the  Queen 
had  in  her  mind  as  the  right  answer. 

"He  wandered  far  and  wide  in  his  mournful  search  for  some- 
one wise  enough  to  help  him.  At  length  the  time  came  when 
he  had  to  turn  homewards  again,  in  order  to  return  to  the  Queen 
by  the  appointed  day.  His  way  lay  through  a  forest,  and  he 
was  riding  along  sadly  enough  when  suddenly  he  saw  a  strange 
sight.  In  a  little  glade  just  in  front  of  him  was  a  ring  of  fair 
ladies  dancing,  four- and- twenty  or  more  of  them;  but  as  he  drew 
nigh  eagerly  to  look  at  them  more  closely,  and  see  if  by  chance 
he  might  gain  an  answer  from  them,  they  all  vanished. 

"In  the  place  where  they  had  been  not  a  living  thing  remained, 
except  an  old  woman  sitting  on  the  grass.  When  he  came  near 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH'S  TALE  131 

to  her,  he  saw  that  she  was  withered  and  ugly,  and  as  horrible  a 
sight  as  could  be  imagined. 

"  'Sir  Knight,'  she  said  to  him,  standing  up,  'this  road  leads 
to  no  place.  Whither  are  you  going?  Tell  me  your  errand, 
and  perchance  I  can  help  you.  We  old  folk  have  knowledge  of 
many  things.' 

"  'Mother,'  he  said,  'my  trouble  is  this :  I  am  as  good  as  dead 
if  I  cannot  discover  what  it  is  that  women  love  best.  If  you  could 
help  me,  I  would  reward  you  well.'  And  he  told  her  the  condi- 
tions on  which  his  life  was  spared. 

"  'Give  me  your  word  here  and  now  that  you  will  do  the  next 
thing  that  I  ask  of  you,  whatever  it  is,  if  it  is  in  your  power,'  said 
the  hag  when  she  heard  the  story,  'and  I  will  tell  you  the  an- 
swer.' 

"  'I  give  my  word,'  the  knight  replied. 

"  'Then  your  life  is  safe.  I  promise  you  that  my  answer  will 
be  that  which  the  Queen  wishes  to  have,  and  the  proudest  lady 
of  all  her  Court  will  not  dare  gainsay  it.  Let  us  go  on  our  jour- 
ney without  any  more  talking.' 

"She  whispered  a  word  or  two  in  his  ear,  and  bade  him  pluck 
up  heart;  and  together  they  rode  to  the  Court. 

"The  knight  came  before  the  Queen,  and  said  that  he  was  ready 
to  give  his  answer,  and  a  great  company  of  noble  ladies  gathered 
to  hear  what  he  would  reply  to  the  riddle.  Silence  was  pro- 
claimed, and  he  was  called  upon  to  speak. 

"  'I  have  kept  my  word  faithfully,'  he  said  in  a  manly  voice 
that  was  heard  all  over  the  hall,  'and  I  am  here  on  the  day  ap- 
pointed, prepared  to  answer  the  Queen's  question.  The  answer 
she  desires  was  that  women  love  Power  best,  whether  it  be  over 


132  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

husband  or  lover.  If  that  is  not  the  right  answer,  do  with  me 
as  you  wish.  I  am  here  ready  to  die,  if  you  so  will  it.' 

"They  all  agreed  that  he  had  saved  his  life  by  his  reply.  But 
when  their  verdict  was  made  known,  up  started  the  old  hag  who 
had  told  the  knight  the  answer. 

"  'Give  me  justice,  lady  Queen,  before  your  Court  departs,' 
she  cried.  'I  told  the  knight  that  answer,  and  he  gave  me  his 
word  that  he  would  do  the  first  thing  that  I  asked  of  him,  if  it 
lay  in  his  power.  Now,  before  all  this  Court,  I  ask  you,  Sir 
Knight,  to  take  me  to  be  your  wife;  and  remember  it  is  I  who 
have  saved  your  life.' 

"  'Alas!'  said  the  knight;  'truly  I  gave  my  word,  but  will  you 
not  ask  some  other  thing  of  me?  Take  all  my  riches,  and  let  me 

go.' 

"  'No,'  insisted  the  old  woman.  'Though  I  be  old  and  poor 
and  ugly,  I  would  not  let  you  go  for  all  the  gold  on  earth.  I  will 
be  your  wife  and  your  love.' 

"  'My  love !'  he  cried ;  'nay,  rather  my  death !  Alas  that  any  of 
my  race  should  suffer  such  dishonor!' 

"All  the  knight's  prayers  and  entreaties  were  of  no  avail.  He 
had  to  keep  his  word  and  marry  the  hideous  old  hag;  and  a 
mournful  wedding  he  made  of  it. 

"He  took  his  new  bride  home  to  his  house,  not  feeling  like  a 
happy  lover;  and  his  woe  was  increased  by  her  first  words  to 
him. 

"  'Dear  husband,  will  you  not  kiss  me?  Is  this  the  custom  of 
the  King's  Court,  for  every  knight  to  neglect  his  wife?  I  am 
your  own  love,  who  saved  you  from  death,  and  I  have  done  you 
no  wrong.  Yet  you  act  towards  me  like  a  madman  who  has  lost 


THE  WIFE  Of  BATH'S  TALE  133 

his  senses,  with  your  groans  and  your  glum  looks.  Tell  me  what 
I  have  done  amiss,  and  I  will  set  it  right.7 

"  'You  cannot  set  it  right,'  said  the  knight  sorrowfully.  'Do 
you  wonder  that  I  am  ashamed  to  have  married  one  of  such  mean 
birth,  so  old,  so  ugly?' 

"  'Is  that  the  cause  of  your  grief?'  she  asked. 

"  'Yes,'  answered  he. 

"  'I  could  set  it  right,'  said  his  wife.  'But  you  speak  so  proudly 
of  your  high  birth  and  old  family.  Such  pride  is  worth  nothing, 
for  poverty  and  low  birth  are  no  sin.  Look  rather  at  him  who 
leads  the  best  life  both  in  secret  and  in  the  open,  who  strives  al- 
ways to  do  gentle  and  honorable  deeds;  take  him  for  the  truest 
gentleman,  and  be  sure  that  a  noble  nature  like  his  is  not  made 
only  by  high  birth  or  the  wealth  of  his  fathers.  But  you  say  that 
I  am  low-born,  old,  and  ugly.  Well,  choose  now  which  you 
would  desire  me  to  be — as  I  am,  poor,  old,  and  ugly,  but  a  true 
and  faithful  wife  who  will  obey  you  always ;  or  young  and  fair, 
but  fickle  and  fond  of  vain  pleasures,  always  emptying  your 
purse  and  wounding  your  love?' 

"The  knight  did  not  know  which  to  choose.  He  was  moved 
to  shame  by  his  wife's  words,  and  after  long  thought  he  said : 
'My  lady,  my  dear  wife,  I  put  myself  in  your  hands.  Choose 
for  yourself;  that  will  do  honor  to  you,  and  what  you  wish  is 
enough  for  me.' 

"  'Then  I  have  gained  the  mastery!  I  have  power  over  you/ 
said  she,  'if  I  may  choose  as  I  please.' 

"  'Yes,  dear  wife,'  he  answered,  'I  think  that  best' 

"  'Kiss  me,'  she  said,  'and  let  us  quarrel  no  longer.  I  will  be 
both  to  you — both  fair  and  true.  I  will  be  as  good  a  wife  as 


134  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

ever  there  was  since  the  beginning  of  the  world;  and  if  I  am  not 
as  beautiful  as  any  lady,  queen,  or  empress  in  the  whole  earth, 
from  east  to  west,  then  slay  me  or  do  with  my  life  as  you  wish.' 

"The  knight  looked  up  at  her  again.  But,  instead  of  the  with- 
ered old  crone  he  expected  to  see,  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  most 
beautiful  wife  that  could  be  imagined;  for  the  old  woman  was  a 
fairy,  and  had  wished  to  give  him  a  lesson  before  he  knew  her  as 
she  really  was.  No  longer  now  was  he  ashamed  of  her,  and  they 
lived  together  happily  to  their  lives'  end.  And  may  all  of  us 
women  find  such  husbands,  who  will  be  ready  to  be  ruled  by  their 
wives'  authority  in  everything  I" 


HUBERT  THE  FRIAR 

THE  Friar,  who  found  it  so  hard  to  keep  the  peace  with  the 
Summoner,  was  a  well-kept  knave,  by  name  Hubert — a 
great  strong  fellow  who  looked  like  a  fighting  man,  but  with  a 
neck  as  white  as  a  lily.  His  clothes  were  not  threadbare  like 
those  of  some  poor  cloister-monk,  but  lordly  as  an  abbot's.  All 
the  inns  and  innkeepers  in  every  town  the  pilgrims  reached  were 
known  to  him,  for  he  thought  that  so  fine  a  man  as  himself  could 
not  mix  with  the  poor  and  the  beggars  in  the  ale-shops,  but  must 
go  to  the  best  houses.  He  was  a  good  talker  and  a  great  gossip, 
and  had  many  a  friend  among  the  rich  farmers  of  the  country- 
side, because  he  forgave  sins  very  easily  and  pleasantly,  and  al- 
ways kept  his  hood  well  stuffed  with  knives  and  pins  for  their 
wives.  He  was  ever  courteous  and  polite  when  he  thought  he 
could  get  any  profit  out  of  it,  being  the  best  beggar  in  all  his 
order. 


"HE  COULD  PLAY  CLEVERLY  ON  A  ROTE  AND  SING  A  BALLAD  VERY 
MERRILY" — PAGE  135 


HUBERT  THE  FRIAR  135 

He  was  a  good  companion  to  have,  for  he  could  play  well  and 
cleverly  on  a  rote,  or  small  fiddle,  which  he  carried,  and  could 
sing  a  ballad  very  merrily.  His  little  eyes  would  twinkle  like 
stars  on  a  frosty  night  as  he  strummed  on  his  rote  at  the  end  of  a 
song. 

But  his  good  temper  had  all  gone  after  his  quarrel  with  the 
Summoner,  and  he  sat  scowling  furiously  at  his  foe.  He  had 
kept  silence,  out  of  courtesy,  while  the  Wife  of  Bath  told  her 
tale,  but  when  she  had  finished  he  hastened  to  have  his  say. 

"Long  life  to  you,  dame!"  said  he.  "You  have  touched  upon 
a  very  hard  matter  in  this  question  of  authority  or  power;  but 
we  must  leave  that  now,  for  we  wish  only  for  merriment.  If 
the  company  please,  I  will  tell  a  merry  tale  of  a  summoner  which 
will  satisfy  you  well,  I  hope.  You  can  guess  that  nothing  good 
can  be  said  of  summoners;  they  are  men  who  run  up  and  down 
every  town  with  their  lying  writs,  and  get  well  beaten  for  their 
pains — " 

This  was  unhappily  so  true  of  what  sometimes  happened  to 
summoners  that  the  Host  thought  it  time  to  interfere  again. 

"You  should  be  more  gentle  and  courteous,  sir,"  he  said,  "con- 
sidering that  you  yourself  beg  for  money.  We  must  have  no 
quarreling.  Tell  your  tale,  Hubert,  and  let  the  Summoner 
alone." 

"Nay,"  said  the  Summoner,  "let  him  say  what  he  likes.  I  will 
pay  him  back  every  jot  of  it  when  it  comes  to  my  turn.  I  will 
tell  a  story  to  show  what  a  great  honor  it  is  to  be  a  smooth-tongued 
begging  friar." 

"Enough,"  said  the  Host  "Tell  your  tale,  dear  Master 
Friar." 

With  that  the  Friar  began  his  story. 


THE  FRIAR'S  TALE 
THE  SUMMONER  AND  THE  FIEND 

THERE  was  once  in  my  country  an  archdeacon,  a  man 
of  high  degree  and  great  justice.  He  was  very  upright 
in  his  dealings,  and  boldly  punished  the  evil-doers  over 
whom  he  had  authority,  excommunicating  and  fining  them  with- 
out mercy.  Indeed,  so  strict  was  he,  and  so  many  little  fines  and 
punishments  did  he  inflict  upon  his  people,  that  they  were  in  a 
sorry  case,  and  had  a  very  hard  life  of  it. 

"The  archdeacon  had  in  his  service  a  summoner,  who  used  to 
collect  the  debts  and  force  the  people  of  the  parish  to  pay  their 
tithes  and  other  dues.  This  summoner  was  as  great  a  rascal  as 
any  in  England.  He  had  spies  in  every  corner  to  tell  him  where 
he  was  likely  to  get  money,  and  he  knew  more  about  bribery  than 
I  could  tell  you  in  a  couple  of  years.  He — " 

The  Summoner  here  interrupted  the  Friar,  but  the  Host 
silenced  him,  saying,  "Peace!  Let  him  tell  his  tale.  Go  on, 
Friar,  and  do  not  heed  the  Summoner's  words." 

"This  false  thief  of  a  summoner,"  the  Friar  continued  ma- 
liciously, "made  a  great  profit  out  of  his  tithes  and  extortions, 
and  was  forever  seeking  someone  fresh  to  plunder.  He  would 
summon  a  sinner  on  his  own  authority,  without  any  command 
from  the  archdeacon ;  men  were  glad  to  fill  his  purse  with  bribes, 
or  give  great  feasts  in  his  honor,  hoping  thereby  to  escape  his 
greedy  clutches.  He  often  forgot  to  tell  his  master  how  much  he 

136 


THE  FRIAR'S  TALE  137 

had  really  collected,  and  the  archdeacon  did  not  get  more  than 
half  his  proper  due. 

"One  day,  as  he  was  riding  through  the  greenwoods  on  his 
way  to  wring  some  money  out  of  a  poor  widow  by  a  threat  of 
some  false  charge  or  other,  the  summoner  met  a  yeoman,  gayly 
dressed  in  a  green  jacket  and  a  hat  with  a  black  fringe,  and  bear- 
ing a  bow  and  arrows. 

"  Well  met,  sirP  he  said  courteously. 

"  'Good-day  to  you/  answered  the  stranger.  'Whither  are  you 
going  in  this  forest?  Have  you  far  to  travel  to-day?7 

"  'No,'  replied  the  summoner;  'I  have  only  to  go  and  get  my 
lord's  rents  from  a  tenant  who  lives  close  at  hand.' 

"  'Are  you,  then,  a  bailiff?'  asked  the  yeoman. 

"  'Yes,'  answered  the  summoner;  for  it  is  less  disgraceful  to 
be  a  bailiff  than  a  summoner,  and  he  was  ashamed  to  confess  his 
real  trade. 

"  'That  is  a  good  thing,  dear  brother,'  said  the  other,  'for  I, 
too,  am  a  bailiff,  though  a  stronger  to  this  country.  In  my  own 
land  I  have  great  wealth,  and  gold  and  silver  in  plenty,  if  ever 
you  should  come  that  way.  I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  and  I  pray 
you  give  me  your  friendship.' 

"The  summoner  was  as  spiteful  and  full  of  chatter  as  a  shrike, 
and  was  glad  to  meet  one  of  his  own  trade.  He  swore  undying 
friendship  with  the  stranger  on  the  spot,  and  then  went  on  to  ask 
him  inquisitive  questions,  according  to  his  custom. 

"  'Where  do  you  live,  brother,'  he  asked,  'in  case  I  should  one 
day  wish  to  find  you?' 

"  'Far  away,'  answered  the  other  softly  and  courteously.  'I 
hope  I  shall  see  you  there  one  day.  Before  I  leave  you  I  will 
tell  you  the  way  thither  so  carefully  that  you  cannot  miss  it.' 


138  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"  'Thank  you,  brother/  said  the  summoner.  'Now,  as  you, 
too,  are  a  bailiff,  perhaps  to  pass  the  time  you  can  tell  me  some 
new  tricks  to  get  money  out  of  the  people  here.  Tell  me,  as  a 
brother-bailiff,  how  your  own  trade  prospers.' 

"  'I  will  tell  you  the  truth.  My  profits  are  small  indeed.  My 
master  is  very  hard  upon  me,  and  I  have  to  spend  much  toil  to 
get  a  living.  I  must  extort  every  penny  I  can,  and  I  take  all  that 
men  will  give  me.  Still,  by  trickery  or  force  I  keep  myself  from 
year  to  year.' 

"  'So  it  is  with  me,'  said  the  summoner.  'I  do  not  scruple  to 
take  whatever  I  can  get,  without  making  any  bones  about  it;  else 
I  could  not  live.  But  tell  me  your  name,  dear  brother.' 

"The  yeoman  had  been  smiling  a  little  as  the  summoner  spoke. 
'Shall  I  tell  you,  my  friend?'  he  asked  slyly  and  softly.  'I  am 
a  fiend,  and  my  dwelling  is  below  the  earth.  I  ride  about  taking 
whatever  men  are  willing  to  give  me,  just  as  you  do.  You  win 
what  you  can,  without  caring  by  what  means ;  even  so  do  I,  and 
I  would  ride  to  the  world's  end  to  gain  my  prey.' 

"  'What!'  cried  the  summoner  in  surprise,  'you  a  fiend  I  I 
thought  you  were  an  ordinary  mortal;  your  figure  is  as  good  as 
a  man's.  Is  not  your  shape  fixed?  Need  you  not  keep  to  one 
form?' 

"  'No,  we  can  take  any  shape  we  like.  Sometimes  we  appear 
as  a  man,  sometimes  as  an  angel,  or  sometimes,  perhaps,  as  a 
monkey;  and  no  one  can  tell  that  we  are  not  what  we  seem  to 
be.' 

"  'But  why  do  you  not  abide  by  one  shape?' 

"  'We  take  whatever  form  seems  to  be  the  best  for  catching  our 
prey,  as  you  will  see,'  answered  the  fiend. 

'But  why  do  you  take  all  this  trouble  over  your  gains?' 


U    f 


THE  FRIAR'S  TALE  139 

"  'Never  mind  now,  dear  Sir  Summoner,'  the  fiend  replied. 
'It  is  getting  late;  the  days  are  short,  and  I  have  not  yet  won 
anything  this  morning.  We  fiends  are  sent  to  the  earth  for  vari- 
ous purposes,  which  you  would  not  understand  even  if  I  made 
them  known  to  you.  You  shall  hear  all  about  our  shapes  pres- 
ently, when  you  come  to  a  place  where  you  can  learn  by  yourself 
far  more  than  I  could  tell  you.  Now  let  us  ride  on  quickly;  I 
will  not  forsake  you  till  you  leave  me  of  your  own  accord.' 

"  'That  will  never  be,  brother.  I  am  a  man  well  known  in 
these  parts,  and  I  have  given  my  word  to  be  your  friend;  I  will 
keep  to  it  so  long  as  you  too  are  true.  Let  us  go  about  our  busi- 
ness together,  you  taking  whatever  men  freely  give  you,  and  I 
whatever  is  bestowed  on  me.  Thus  we  shall  both  make  a  living, 
and  if  either  of  us  gains  more  than  the  other  he  can  give  him 
some  of  the  profit.' 

"  'Very  well,'  said  the  fiend;  and  so  they  rode  on  to  do  their 
business  together,  the  summoner  quite  content  with  his  new 
friend. 

"Presently,  as  they  drew  near  the  place  which  the  summoner 
wished  to  visit,  they  saw  a  cart,  loaded  with  hay,  stuck  fast  in 
the  mud.  The  driver  was  trying  in  vain  to  make  the  horses  drag 
it  out. 

"  'Come  up,  Brock!  Come,  Scot  I'  he  shouted.  'What  is  the 
matter  with  you?  May  the  fiend  fly  away  with  you  both,  cart 
and  all!' 

"The  summoner  heard  these  words,  and  thought  to  himself, 
'Here  is  a  fine  chance  to  trick  the  carter!' 

"  'See,  brother,'  he  whispered  to  the  fiend,  'did  you  not  hear 
what  the  driver  said?  Take  it  all,  hay  and  cart  and  horses ;  you 
heard  him  give  it  to  you.' 


140  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"  'No,  no,'  answered  his  friend,  'I  cannot  take  it,  because  he 
did  not  really  mean  to  give  it  me.  Ask  him  yourself  if  he  did; 
or  wait  a  moment,  and  see  what  happens/ 

"The  carter  patted  and  encouraged  his  horses.  They  strug- 
gled forward,  straining  hard,  and  at  length  drew  the  cart  out  of 
the  mud. 

"  'A  good  pull,  thanks  be  to  Heaven!'  said  the  driver.  The 
cart  is  free  again  1' 

"  'You  see,  brother?  What  did  I  tell  you?'  said  the  fiend; 
'the  driver  said  one  thing,  and  meant  another,  so  that  I  get  noth- 
ing out  of  him.  Let  us  go  on.' 

"Soon  they  came  to  the  poor  widow's  house.  The  summoner 
told  his  comrade  in  a  whisper  what  he  was  going  to  do. 

"  'There  lives  here  an  old  woman,'  he  said,  'who  would  rather 
lose  her  head  than  give  up  a  penny  to  save  herself.  But  whether 
she  likes  it  or  not,  she  must  pay  what  I  ask,  or  I  will  hale  her 
before  the  archdeacon's  court.  Take  a  lesson  from  me  in  the  way 
to  win  money,  my  friend,  as  you  have  just  failed  to  get  your  due 
from  the  carter.' 

"With  that  he  knocked  at  the  widow's  door.  'Come  out,  old 
hag !'  he  cried.  'Make  haste  1  I  expect  you  have  got  some  priest 
or  friar  in  there.  Come  out  to  me!' 

"  'Who  is  that  knocking?'  said  the  widow,  looking  out.  'Bless 
you,  sweet  sir!  what  do  you  want?' 

"  'I  have  here  a  writ,'  answered  the  summoner,  'which  says 
diat  to-morrow  you  must  come  before  the  archdeacon  to  answer 
certain  charges.' 

"  'Heaven  help  me!'  said  the  poor  old  woman;  'I  cannot  go  so 
far.  I  have  been  ill  for  many  a  day  past,  and  must  not  move. 


THE  FRIAR'S  TALE  141 

Can  I  not  be  told  the  charge,  and  have  someone  to  defend  me  be- 
fore the  court?' 

"  'Let  me  think  about  the  matter,'  said  the  summoner,  pre- 
tending to  consider.  'Yes ;  if  you  pay  me  twelve  pence  *  down$ 
you  need  not  appear.  Of  course,  I  shall  make  but  little  profit 
thereby;  my  master  the  archdeacon  gets  all  the  gains.  But  give 
it  me  quickly,  and  I  will  see  that  you  do  not  suffer.  I  cannot  w^ait 
much  longer.' 

"  'Alas  I  have  not  twelve  pence  in  the  whole  world.  You 
know  that  I  am  poor  and  old.  Have  pity  on  me!' 

"  'May  the  fiend  take  me  if  I  abate  one  jot!'  answered  the  sum- 
moner. 'Give  me  the  money,  or,  by  Saint  Anne!  I  will  take 
away  your  new  pan  to  pay  for  that  old  debt  of  yours  which 
you  owe  me  for  saving  you  from  punishment  several  years 
ago.' 

"'It  is  a  lie!'  cried  the  old  woman.  'I  have  never  before 
been  summoned  to  the  court,  and  there  is  no  such  debt.  The 
fiend  take  you,  and  my  pan  and  all!' 

"When  the  fiend  heard  this  he  said  softly  to  her,  'Tell  me, 
old  mother,  do  you  mean  what  you  say  in  earnest?' 

"  'The  fiend  take  him,  pan  and  all,  if  he  will  not  have  mercy 
on  me!'  repeated  the  woman. 

"  'You  old  hag,  it  is  not  my  way  to  show  mercy!'  said  the  sum- 
moner. 'Take  care  I  do  not  take  everything  you  have.' 

"  'Softly,  brother,'  said  the  fiend;  'do  not  be  angry.  You  see 
that  you  and  this  pan  are  both  mine  by  right,  a  free  gift  from 
the  widow.  You  shall  come  with  me  now,  and  learn  more  about 
us  fiends  than  all  the  masters  of  divinity  know.' 

*A  penny,  of  course,  meant  a  much  greater  sum  then  than  nowadays. 


142  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"With  that  he  seized  the  summoner,  and  carried  him  off  with 
him  to  the  place  of  fiends,  which  is  the  proper  dwelling  for  sum- 


moners." 


THE  SUMMONER  AND  THE  CLERK  OF 
OXFORD 

THE  Summoner  was  boiling  over  with  anger  during  the 
Friar's  tale.  He  was  a  fierce-looking,  fiery-faced  man, 
with  knobby  cheeks,  narrow  eyes,  thin  black  eyebrows,  and  a 
scraggy  beard;  children  were  always  afraid  at  the  sight  of  him. 
He  was  as  hot-tempered  as  a  sparrow,  but  good-natured  after  a 
fashion,  none  the  less,  though  ready  enough  to  cheat  any  simple- 
ton. For  a  bottle  of  wine  or  so  he  would  let  any  friend  of  his 
live  loosely  a  year  or  more  without  summoning  him,  and  he  used 
to  say  that  no  man,  unless  his  soul  was  in  his  purse,  need  fear 
the  archdeacon's  judgment;  for  it  was  his  money,  not  his  soul, 
which  had  to  be  punished.  He  tried  to  carry  this  saying  out  in 
practice,  being  always  quite  willing  to  take  a  bribe  to  let  a  man 
off  a  summons.  In  court  he  would  bring  out  the  few  words  of 
Latin  which  he  knew — one  or  two  law  terms — and  repeat  them 
over  and  over  again,  like  a  jay  which  has  learnt  some  phrase  or 
other,  and  is  always  babbling  it;  but  if  you  pressed  him  further 
his  knowledge  ran  dry. 

At  the  end  of  this  tale  about  the  fiend  and  the  summoner  he 
stood  up  in  his  stirrups,  trembling  all  over  like  an  aspen-leaf 
with  rage. 

"Let  me  tell  you  just  one  tale,  sirs,"  he  cried.  "You  have 
heard  this  lying  Friar's  story;  suffer  me  to  have  my  say.  The 
Friar  has  told  you  something  about  fiends,  and  he  should  know 


THE  SUMMONER  AND  THE  CLERK  143 

well  enough  how  to  do  so;  there  is  a  special  place  among  the 
fiends  kept  for  all  the  friars  when  they  die." 

He  described  this  place,  and  went  on :  "Well,  so  much  I  say 
by  way  of  preface.  Now  to  my  tale,  and  Heaven  bless  you  all 
— except  the  Friar!" 

With  that,  though  he  was  interrupted  by  his  enemy,  he  told 
a  story  about  the  cheating  of  a  friar  by  a  Yorkshireman,  who  ex- 
cited his  covetous  greed  with  the  promise  of  a  very  precious 
jewel;  but  when  the  jewel  was  discovered,  it  turned  out  to  be 
worthless. 

The  Friar  was  of  course  very  angry  at  this  tale,  and  the  two 
might  have  gone  on  quarreling  had  it  not  been  that  as  the  Sum- 
moner's  story  ended  the  pilgrims  were  almost  at  the  town  of 
Sittingbourne,  about  forty  miles  from  London.  Here  they 
stopped  for  a  short  time  to  rest,  and  when  they  went  on  again  the 
Host  prevented  any  more  quarrels  by  asking  the  Clerk  of  Ox- 
ford for  a  tale. 

The  poor  Clerk's  life  was  a  hard  one,  as  his  threadbare  cloak 
showed.  In  those  days  many  poor  men's  sons  such  as  he  used  to 
beg  the  money  for  their  education,  and  often  by  their  own  ability 
rose  to  high  rank.  But  he  was  so  fond  of  his  studies  that  every 
penny  he  could  get  was  spent  on  books ;  he  would  rather  sleep 
with  his  head  pillowed  on  a  score  or  so  of  Aristotle's  works  than 
wear  the  richest  robes  in  the  world.  He  had  not  yet  been  made 
a  parson  or  got  a  living,  nor  was  he  worldly  enough  to  take  any 
other  office,  so  that  he  was  badly  off  indeed.  His  face  wore  a 
hollow  and  sober  look,  and  he  spoke  but  little,  though  when  he 
did  open  his  mouth  what  he  said  was  wise  and  pointed,  and  full 
of  true  goodness.  He  was  ever  ready  either  to  learn  or  to  teach. 

"Sir  Clerk  of  Oxford,"  said  the  Host  to  him  when  the  pil- 


,144  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

grims  were  well  on  their  way  again,  "you  ride  along  as  shy  and 
quiet  as  a  maid  at  her  bridal  feast.  You  have  not  spoken  a  word 
all  day.  I  suppose  you  are  thinking  over  something  very  deep 
and  wise.  But  there  is  a  time  for  all  things,  says  Solomon^  and 
it  is  not  time  for  your  studies  now.  Rouse  up  and  be  merry. 
Tell  us  a  tale — something  cheerful,  not  a  sermon  or  a  learned 
speech  full  of  strange  terms  and  long  words ;  keep  that  sort  of 
thing  for  higher  affairs  than  this,  and  tell  us  a  tale  that  we  can 
easily  understand." 

"I  am  under  your  command,  Host,"  answered  the  Clerk 
meekly,  "and  I  must  obey  you.  I  will  tell  you  a  story  I  heard  at 
Padua  from  Francis  Petrarch,  the  great  poet  of  Italy,  who  now, 
alas  I  is  dead." 


THE  CLERK'S  TALE 
PATIENT  GRISELDA 

THERE  is  on  the  western  side  of  Italy,"  began  the 
Clerk,  "a  large  and  fertile  plain,  wherein  you  may  be- 
hold many  a  tower  and  town  founded  long  ago  by  the 
men  of  the  olden  days.  The  name  of  this  noble  country  is 
Saluzzo.  A  worthy  marquis  called  Walter  was  once  lord  of  it, 
as  his  fathers  had  been  before  him.  His  subjects  obeyed  him 
willingly  and  well,  and  he  was  loved  by  all,  lords  and  common 
people  alike.  His  family  was  very  ancient  and  of  high  rank  in 
Italy.  He  himself  was  young,  strong,  and  handsome,  and  dis- 
creet enough  in  the  government  of  his  country.  But  he  had 
several  faults  for  which  he  was  to  blame:  he  took  no  thought 
for  the  future,  but  in  his  youth  liked  to  do  nothing  but  hawk 
and  hunt  all  day,  and  let  all  other  cares  go  unheeded.  And  the 
thing  which  seemed  to  the  people  of  Saluzzo  to  be  worst  of  all 
was  that  he  would  not  marry. 

"At  length  his  subjects  came  to  him  in  a  body  to  urge  him  to 
take  a  wife.  The  wisest  of  them  spoke  on  behalf  of  the  rest. 

"  'Noble  marquis,'  he  said,  'you  are  ever  kind  to  us,  and  so 
we  now  dare  to  come  to  you  and  tell  you  our  grief.  Of  your 
grace,  my  lord,  listen  to  our  complaint.  I  speak  for  all  of  us, 
and  have  no  more  and  no  less  concern  in  the  matter  than  any 
other  one  here.  This  is  our  plea:  We  know  how  good  is  your 
rule  over  us,  and  there  is  only  one  thing  which  would  make  your 
subjects  happier,  and  that  is  that  you  should  take  a  wife.  Bow 

145 


146  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

your  head  under  the  happy  yoke  of  marriage,  my  lord,  which 
gives  you  not  slavery,  but  joy  and  power.  Bethink  you  how 
quickly  our  lives  pass,  and  that  no  man  can  stop  the  swift  course 
of  time.  You  are  in  your  youth  now,  but  age  will  creep  upon 
you  in  a  day  which  you  cannot  foresee.  We  pray  you  therefore 
to  marry,  that  you  may  leave  an  heir  to  rule  over  us  when  you 
are  gone.  If  you  will  do  this,  lord  marquis,  we  will  choose  you 
a  wife  from  among  the  noblest  in  the  land.  Grant  our  boon, 
and  deliver  us  from  our  fears,  for  we  could  not  live  under  a  lord 
of  a  strange  race.' 

"Their  distress  and  grief  filled  the  marquis  with  pity.  'My 
own  dear  people/  he  answered,  'you  are  asking  of  me  that  which 
I  thought  never  to  do.  I  rejoice  to  be  free,  and  like  not  to  have 
my  freedom  cut  short  by  marriage.  But  I  see  that  your  prayer 
is  just  and  truly  meant,  and  that  it  is  my  duty  to  take  a  wife. 
Therefore  I  consent  to  marry  as  soon  as  I  may.  But  as  for  your 
offer  to  choose  a  wife  for  me,  of  that  task  I  acquit  you.  The 
will  of  God  must  ordain  what  sort  of  an  heir  I  shall  have,  and  be 
your  choice  of  a  wife  never  so  wise,  the  child  may  yet  be  amiss, 
for  goodness  is  of  God's  gift  alone.  To  Him,  therefore,  I  trust 
to  guide  my  choice.  You  must  promise  also  to  obey  and  rever- 
ence my  wife,  and  not  to  rebel  against  her  so  long  as  she  lives, 
whosoever  she  may  be.  As  my  heart  is  inclined,  so  will  I  choose 
and  wed  her,  and  if  you  will  not  agree  to  what  I  say,  speak  to 
me  no  more  of  the  matter.' 

"With  hearty  goodwill  they  promised  to  do  as  he  bade  them, 
and  obey  his  wife,  being  glad  that  he  should  have  heard  their 
prayer  so  graciously.  But  before  they  went  away  they  begged 
him  to  fix  a  day  for  the  wedding,  for  they  were  still  doubtful 
lest  he  might  not  marry  after  all. 


THE  CLERK'S  TALE  147 

"Walter  granted  this  boon  also,  and  appointed  a  day  for  his 
marriage,  saying  that  this,  too,  he  did  because  they  wished  it; 
and  they  fell  on  their  knees  and  thanked  him,  and  went  away  to 
their  homes  again,  while  he  gave  orders  to  his  knights  and  of- 
ficers to  prepare  a  great  wedding-feast,  with  every  kind  of 
splendor  and  magnificence.  But  he  told  no  one  who  was  to  be 
his  bride. 

"Near  the  great  palace  of  the  marquis  there  stood  a  small 
village,  where  a  number  of  poor  folk  dwelt.  Among  them  lived 
a  man  called  Janicola,  the  poorest  of  them  all.  But  Heaven  can 
give  grace  even  to  the  meanest  things,  Janicola  had  a  daughter 
named  Griselda,  the  fairest  maiden  under  the  sun,  and  the  best. 
She  had  been  brought  up  simply,  knowing  more  of  labor  than  of 
ease,  and  she  worked  hard  to  keep  her  father's  old  age  in  com- 
fort. All  day  long  she  sat  spinning  and  watching  sheep  in  the 
fields ;  when  she  came  home  to  their  poor  cottage  in  the  evening 
she  would  bring  with  her  a  few  herbs,  which  she  would  cut  up 
and  cook,  to  make  herself  a  meal  before  she  lay  down  to  rest  on 
her  hard  bed;  and  she  had  not  a  moment  idle  till  she  was  asleep. 
Thus  she  lived  from  day  to  day,  tending  her  old  father  with 
kindness  and  reverence. 

"Walter  had  often  seen  this  maiden  as  he  rode  out  a-hunting, 
and  he  was  filled  with  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  her  loveliness  and 
her  gentle,  kindly  life.  In  his  heart  he  had  vowed  to  marry 
none  other  than  her,  if  ever  he  did  marry. 

"The  day  appointed  for  the  wedding  came,  but  still  no  one 
knew  who  would  be  the  bride.  Men  wondered  and  murmured 
and  gossiped  secretly.  'Will  our  lord  never  give  up  his  idle 
way  of  living?  Will  he  never  marry?  Why  does  he  betray  us 
by  breaking  his  word?' 


148  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"But  the  marquis  had  ordered  all  kinds  of  costly  gems, 
brooches,  and  rings  to  be  made  ready,  and  rich  dresses  were  pre- 
pared for  the  bride  (for  there  was  a  maid  in  his  service  about 
Griselda's  stature,  so  that  they  knew  how  to  measure  the  cloth  for 
the  wedding-garments).  Yet  still,  when  the  very  hour  for  the 
marriage  arrived,  no  one  but  Walter  knew  who  would  be  the 
bride. 

"All  the  palace  was  put  in  array,  and  the  board  set  for  the 
feast.  The  bridal  procession  started  as  if  to  fetch  the  bride,  the 
marquis  at  its  head,  dressed  in  gay  attire,  and  attended  by  all  his 
lords  and  ladies.  They  set  out  in  all  their  pomp  and  magnifi- 
cence, to  the  sound  of  joyful  music,  and  rode  until  they  came  to 
the  little  village  where  Griselda  lived. 

"Griselda,  all  ignorant  of  what  was  to  happen,  went  that 
morning  to  the  well  to  draw  water,  according  to  her  wont,  for 
she  had  heard  of  the  procession  which  would  take  place  in  honor 
of  the  wedding. 

"  *I  will  do  my  work  as  soon  as  I  can,  and  go  and  stand  at  the 
door  as  the  other  maidens  do,'  she  thought,  'to  watch  the  marquis 
and  his  bride  pass,  if  they  come  this  way  to  the  castle.' 

"Just  as  she  went  to  the  door  the  procession  reached  the  cot- 
tage, and  the  marquis  called  her.  She  set  down  her  waterpot  by 
the  threshold  in  the  ox's  stall  (for  they  were  so  poor  that  their 
one  ox  lived  in  the  hut  with  them) ,  and  fell  on  her  knees  to  hear 
what  the  marquis  wished  to  say  to  her. 

"  Where  is  your  father,  Griselda?'  he  asked  soberly  and 
gravely. 

"  'My  lord,  he  is  within,'  she  answered  humbly,  and  went  in 
and  brought  Janicola  before  him. 

"Walter  took  the  old  man  by  the  hand,  and  led  him  aside. 


THE  CLERK'S  TALE  149 

'Janicola,'  he  said,  'I  can  no  longer  hide  the  desire  of  my  heart. 
If  you  will  grant  me  your  daughter,  I  will  take  her  with  me  to 
be  my  wife  to  my  life's  end.  You  are  my  faithful  liege  subject, 
and  I  know  that  you  love  and  obey  me.  Will  you,  then,  consent 
to  have  me  for  your  son-in-law?' 

"The  sudden  question  so  amazed  the  old  man  that  he  turned 
red  and  confused,  and  stood  trembling  before  the  marquis.  All 
he  could  say  was:  'My  lord,  my  will  is  as  your  will,  and  you 
are  my  sovereign.  Let  it  be  as  you  wish.' 

"  'Let  us  talk  privately  a  little,'  said  the  marquis,  'and  after- 
wards I  will  ask  Griselda  herself  to  be  my  wife,  and  we  three 
will  speak  of  the  matter  together.' 

"So  they  went  apart  to  confer  privately  about  it.  Meanwhile 
the  courtiers  were  in  the  yard  of  the  mean  little  cottage,  marvel- 
ing at  the  care  and  kindness  which  Griselda  showed  in  tending 
her  old  father.  But  their  wonder  was  not  so  great  as  hers,  for 
she  had  never  before  seen  so  splendid  a  sight  as  these  richly- 
dressed  lords  and  ladies,  nor  received  such  noble  guests;  and  she 
stood  in  their  presence  pale  with  astonishment. 

"But  her  father  and  the  marquis  called  her.  'Griselda,'  said 
Walter,  'your  father  and  I  desire  that  you  shall  become  my  wife. 
I  wish  to  ask  you  whether  you  give  your  consent  now,  or  whether 
you  would  like  to  think  further  of  it.  If  you  marry  me,  will  you 
be  ready  to  love  and  obey  me,  and  never  to  act  against  my  will, 
even  so  much  as  by  a  word  or  a  frown?' 

"  'My  lord,'  Griselda  answered,  fearing  and  wondering  at  his 
words,  'I  am  all  unworthy  of  so  great  an  honor;  but  as  you  wish, 
so  will  I  do.  Here  and  now  I  promise  that  I  will  never  will- 
ingly disobey  you  in  deed  or  thought — no,  not  if  I  die  for  it.' 

"  'That  is  enough,  my  Griselda,'  said  the  marquis ;  and  with 


150  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

that  he  went  gravely  to  the  door,  with  Griselda  following  him. 

"  (This  is  my  bride,'  he  cried  to  all  the  people.  'Honor  and 
love  her,  I  pray  you,  if  you  love  me.' 

"Then,  that  she  might  not  enter  his  palace  poorly  dressed  in 
her  old  clothes,  he  bade  the  women  robe  her  fitly  and  honorably; 
and  though  these  ladies  did  not  like  even  to  touch  the  old  rags 
which  Griselda  wore,  still,  at  his  orders,  they  took  them  off  her, 
and  clad  her  afresh  from  head  to  foot.  They  combed  her  hair,, 
and  set  a  crown  on  her  head,  and  decked  her  with  precious 
stones  and  jeweled  clasps,  so  that  they  hardly  knew  her  again ; 
and  in  this  rich  array  she  seemed  more  lovely  than  ever.  The 
marquis  put  a  ring  on  her  finger,  she  was  set  on  a  snow-white 
horse,  and  they  all  rode  to  the  palace,  where  they  feasted  and 
reveled  till  the  sun  set. 

"Thus  Griselda  was  married  to  Walter.  By  her  marriage  her 
gentleness  and  beauty  seemed  only  to  increase,  so  that  folk  who 
had  known  her  many  a  year  would  not  believe  that  she  was  the 
same  Griselda,  the  daughter  of  Janicola,  who  had  lived  in  a 
mean  hut  in  a  poor  village.  Everyone  who  looked  on  her  loved 
her,  and  her  fame  spread  all  over  Walter's  realm,  so  that  young 
and  old  used  to  come  to  Saluzzo  merely  to  see  her,  or  maybe 
to  lay  their  wrongs  before  her;  for  in  her  simple  goodness  she 
could  often  settle  a  quarrel  where  the  wisest  judges  had  failed. 

"Thus  for  a  time  Walter  and  Griselda  lived  together  in  great 
happiness.  At  length  Griselda  had  a  daughter,  and  though  they 
would  have  liked  a  son  better,  Walter  and  Griselda  were  very 
glad  and  joyful  at  the  event,  and  so  were  all  their  subjects. 

"But  when  the  child  was  still  quite  young,  a  strange  desire 
came  upon  the  marquis  to  try  his  wife's  goodness  and  obedience, 
though  he  had  tested  it  in  many  ways  times  enough  already,  and 


THE  CLERK'S  TALE  151 

had  discovered  no  faults  in  her.  It  was  a  cruel  deed  to  put  her 
to  such  pains  for  no  need,  but  he  could  not  rid  himself  of  the 
wish,  and  he  set  about  carrying  it  out. 

"One  night,  as  she  lay  alone,  he  came  to  her  with  a  stern, 
grave  face.  'Griselda,'  he  said,  'I  think  you  have  not  forgotten 
the  day  when  I  took  you  from  your  poor  home  and  set  you  high 
in  rank  and  nobility.  This  present  dignity  which  you  now  en- 
joy must  not  make  you  unmindful  of  your  former  low  estate. 
Take  heed  to  my  words,  therefore,  now  that  we  are  alone,  with 
none  to  hear  what  I  am  going  to  say.  You  must  know  that  you 
are  very  dear  to  me,  but  not  to  my  people.  They  say  that  it  is 
shameful  to  be  subjects  of  one  of  such  mean  birth;  and  since  your 
daughter  was  born  their  grumbling  has  not  grown  less.  Now,  I 
wish  to  live  my  life  with  them  in  peace,  as  I  have  always  done, 
and  I  cannot  but  give  ear  to  their  words.  I  must  deal  with  your 
child  as  seems  best,  not  for  my  own  sake,  but  for  my  people's. 
Yet  I  am  very  loth  to  do  what  must  be  done,  and  I  will  not  do  it 
unless  you  consent.  Show  me,  therefore,  the  obedience  and  pa- 
tience which  you  promised  at  our  marriage.' 

"Griselda  never  moved  when  she  heard  all  this  false  tale. 
She  did  not  reveal  her  grief  in  look  or  word,  but  simply  an- 
swered: 'My  lord,  it  is  in  your  power  to  do  as  you  please;  my 
child  and  I  are  yours,  willingly  enough.  Do  with  us  as  you 
wish.  Whatever  you  do  cannot  displease  me,  for  all  my  desire 
is  to  obey  you,  and  no  length  of  time  can  change  it — no,  not  even 
death  itself — nor  move  my  heart  from  you.' 

"Walter  was  filled  with  gladness  at  this  gentle  answer,  but  he 
hid  his  joy,  and  went  mournfully  out  of  her  room. 

"A  little  while  after  this  he  told  his  plan  to  a  faithful  servant, 
a  harsh  and  fierce-looking  officer,  whom  he  had  often  before 


152  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

trusted  greatly;  and  when  this  man  understood  what  was  to  be 
done  he  went  to  Griselda,  and  stalked  into  her  chamber,  silent 
and  grim. 

"  'My  lady^'  he  said  bluntly,  'I  must  obey  my  lord,  and  you 
must  forgive  me  for  doing  that  which  I  am  ordered  to  do.  I 
am  commanded  to  take  away  your  daughter.' 

"Not  a  word  more  did  he  say,  but  seized  the  child  and  made  as 
if  to  slay  it  there  and  then.  Griselda  sat  obedient  to  the  com- 
mands which  she  thought  to  be  those  of  her  lord,  and  uttered  no 
sound,  The  man's  looks,  his  words,  his  manner,  his  very  pres- 
ence, were  full  of  dread  foreboding  to  her,  and  she  feared  that 
he  would  kill  the  babe  before  her  eyes.  Nevertheless  she  en- 
duredr  and  waited  meek  and  still  as  a  lamb. 

"At  last  she  spoke,  and  gently  prayed  him  to  let  her  kiss  her 
child  before  it  was  slain;  and  he  granted  her  prayer.  She 
clasped  her  little  daughter  to  her  bosom,  kissing  it  and  lulling  it 
to  rest,  and  saying  softly,  'Farewell,  my  child;  never  again  shall 
I  see  you.  May  the  kind  Father  above  receive  your  soulP 

"Then  she  spoke  again  to  the  officer,  so  meekly  and  humbly 
that  it  would  have  stirred  any  mother's  heart  to  see  her.  'Take 
the  little  child  again,  and  go  and  do  whatever  my  lord  has 
bidden  you.  Only  one  thing  more  I  ask  you  of  your  grace — 
that,  unless  my  lord  forbid  it,  you  bury  the  babe  so  that  no  birds 
of  prey  and  carrion  creatures  can  reach  her  little  body.' 

"But  he  would  promise  nothing.  He  took  the  child,  and 
went  his  way  again  to  Walter,  and  told  him  all  that  Griselda 
had  said  and  done. 

"The  marquis  was  touched  a  little  by  remorse  when  he  heard 
of  his  wife's  gentle  obedience,  but  none  the  less  he  held  to  his 
cruel  purpose  like  a  man  who  is  resolved  to  have  his  own  way. 


THE  CLERK'S  TALE  153 

He  bade  the  officer  take  the  babe  with  all  care  and  secretly  to  his 
sister,  who  was  Countess  of  Bologna,  and  tell  her  the  whole 
story,  asking  her  to  bring  the  child  up  honorably,  without  saying 
whose  it  was. 

"The  man  carried  out  his  orders,  and  the  little  babe  was  taken 
to  Bologna,  and  brought  up  there.  But  Walter's  mind  was  not 
yet  softened  from  his  wicked  intent.  He  looked  eagerly  to  see 
if  what  he  had  done  would  make  his  wife  show  in  her  face  any 
signs  of  grief  or  anger.  But  Griselda  did  not  seem  to  be 
changed  in  the  least.  She  was  always  gentle  and  kind,  and  still 
as  glad,  as  humble,  as  ready  to  obey  him  as  she  had  ever  been ; 
and  not  a  word  either  in  jest  or  earnest  did  she  say  of  her  little 
daughter. 

"Thus  there  passed  four  years  or  so  more,  until  Griselda  had  a 
little  son,  at  which  Walter  and  all  his  subjects  were  overjoyed, 
giving  thanks  to  God  because  now  there  was  an  heir  to  the  king- 
dom. 

"But  when  the  boy  was  some  two  years  old  Walter's  heart 
again  became  cruel  and  perverse,  and  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
test  his  wife's  patience  once  more.  Her  gentle  obedience 
seemed  only  to  make  him  wish  to  torment  her  still  further. 

"  Wife,'  he  said  to  her,  'I  have  told  you  that  my  subjects  did 
not  like  our  marriage,  but  now,  since  our  son  was  born,  their 
murmuring  has  been  worse  than  ever  before,  so  that  I  am  greatly 
afraid  of  what  they  may  do.  They  speak  openly  of  the  matter. 
"When  Walter  dies,"  they  say,  "we  shall  be  ruled  by  Janicola's 
grandson."  I  cannot  but  hear  their  words,  and  I  fear  them. 
So,  in  order  to  live  in  peace,  I  am  resolved  to  serve  our  son  as  I 
did  his  sister  before ;  and  I  warn  you  now,  so  that  you  may  have 
patience  to  bear  his  loss  when  the  time  comes.7 


154  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"  'I  have  always  said,  and  always  will  say/  answered  Griselda, 
'that  I  will  do  nothing  but  what  you  wish.  I  am  not  grieved  that 
both  my  son  and  my  daughter  are  slain,  if  it  is  you  who  order  it. 
You  are  my  lord,  and  can  do  with  me  as  you  will.  When  I  left 
my  home  and  my  poor  rags  I  left  there  my  freedom  also,  and 
took  your  clothing,  and  became  obedient  to  your  commands. 
Therefore  do  as  you  will ;  if  I  knew  beforehand  what  you  wished 
I  would  do  it,  and  if  my  death  would  please  you  I  would  gladly 
die/ 

"When  Walter  heard  these  words  he  cast  down  his  eyes, 
wondering  at  the  patience  of  his  wife.  Yet  he  went  away  from 
her  with  a  stern  and  cruel  face,  though  his  heart  was  full  of  joy 
at  her  goodness. 

"The  fierce  officer  came  to  her  again  in  a  little  while,  and 
seized  her  son.  Again  she  prayed  him  to  give  the  babe  proper 
burial,  and  kissed  its  little  face,  and  blessed  it,  without  a  word 
of  complaint  or  bitterness.  Again  the  child  was  taken  to 
Bologna,  to  be  brought  up  there. 

"The  marquis  watched  for  signs  of  grief  in  his  wife,  but  found 
none,  and  the  more  he  regarded  her  the  more  he  wondered.  If 
he  had  not  known  how  she  loved  the  children  he  would  have 
thought  her  gentleness  was  a  pretense  to  hide  some  evil  plot  or 
other.  But  he  knew  that  she  loved  her  son  and  daughter  next  to 
himself,  and  he  could  only  marvel  at  her  courage.  Between  the 
two  of  them  there  was  but  one  will,  and  that  his  own;  whatever 
he  wished,  that  she  too  desired. 

"Meanwhile  rumors  crept  about  among  the  people  that 
Walter  had  murdered  his  two  children  secretly  because  their 
mother  was  nothing  but  a  poor  village  maiden  of  low  birth. 
The  report  spread  far  and  wide,  so  that  the  marquis  began  to  be 


THE  CLERK'S  TALE  155 

hated  by  the  subjects  who  had  formerly  loved  him  so  well. 
Nevertheless,  he  did  not  change  his  purpose,  but  sought  to  try 
his  wife's  obedience  to  the  utmost.  Very  soon  he  sent  a  secret 
message  to  Rome,  asking  that  a  decree  from  the  Pope  should  be 
forged,  which  would  allow  him  for  the  good  of  his  subjects  to 
put  away  his  wife  Griselda  and  wed  another. 

"In  due  time  the  false  decree  arrived.  It  said  that,  since  great 
strife  had  arisen  between  the  Marquis  of  Saluzzo  and  his  people 
because  he  had  married  a  poor  wife  of  humble  birth,  he  was  to 
put  away  this  wife,  and  be  free  to  marry  another  if  he  pleased. 

"The  common  people  believed  these  lying  orders,  but  when 
the  news  came  to  Griselda  her  heart  was  full  of  woe.  Yet  she 
resolved  to  endure  patiently  whatever  was  done  by  the  husband 
whom  she  loved  so  dearly. 

"But  she  did  not  yet  know  all  Walter's  plan.  He  sent  a  letter 
secretly  to  Bologna  to  the  Count  who  had  married  his  sister,  ask- 
ing him  to  bring  to  Saluzzo  Griselda's  son  and  daughter,  openly 
and  in  state,  but  without  saying  to  any  man  whose  children  they 
really  were,  and  to  proclaim  that  the  young  maiden  was  soon  to 
be  married  to  the  Marquis  of  Saluzzo. 

"The  Count  did  as  he  was  asked.  He  set  out  with  a  great 
train  of  lords  and  ladies  in  rich  array,  bringing  the  girl  with  her 
brother  riding  beside  her.  She  was  decked  in  bright  jeweled 
robes,  as  if  for  marriage,  and  the  boy,  too,  was  nobly  and  fittingly 
dressed.  Thus  they  started  to  go  to  Saluzzo,  which  was  distant 
a  journey  of  many  days. 

"When  all  this  plan  was  being  carried  out,  the  marquis,  ac- 
cording to  his  wicked  design,  put  yet  another  trial  upon  Gri- 
selda's patience  by  saying  to  her  boisterously,  before  all  his 
Court:  'Griselda,  I  was  once  glad  to  marry  you  for  your  good- 


156  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

ness  and  obedience — not  for  your  birth  or  your  wealth.  But 
now  I  know  that  great  rulers  have  duties  and  hardships  of  many 
kinds;  I  am  not  free  to  do  as  every  plowman  may,  and  marry 
whom  I  please.  Every  day  my  people  urge  me  to  take  another 
wife,  and  now  I  have  got  leave  ^o  do  so  to  stop  the  strife  between 
me  and  them.  I  must  tell  you  that  even  now  my  new  wife  is  on 
her  way  hither.  Be  brave,  then,  and  give  place  to  her,  and  of 
my  grace  I  will  restore  to  you  again  the  dowry  you  brought  me 
when  I  married  you.  Return  again  to  your  father's  house ;  re- 
member that  no  one  is  always  happy,  and  bear  steadfastly  the 
buffeting  of  misfortune.' 

"  'My  lord,'  answered  Griselda  patiently,  'I  knew  always  how 
great  was  the  distance  between  your  high  rank  and  my  poverty. 
I  never  deemed  myself  worthy  to  be  your  wife,  nor  even  to  be 
your  servant.  May  Heaven  be  my  witness  that  in  this  house 
whither  you  led  me  as  your  wife  I  have  always  tried  to  serve 
you  faithfully,  and  ever  will  while  my  life  lasts.  I  thank  God 
and  you  that  of  your  kindness  you  have  so  long  held  me  in  honor 
and  dignity  when  I  was  so  unworthy.  No  more  will  I  say;  I 
will  go  to  my  father  gladly,  and  dwell  with  him  to  my  life's  end. 
With  him  I  lived  since  I  was  a  babe,  with  him  I  will  live  from 
now  henceforth  till  I  die,  and  never  will  I  wed  any  other  man 
than  you.  May  God  of  His  grace  grant  you  and  your  new  wife 
happiness  and  prosperity!  I  give  place  to  her  readily,  since  it 
pleases  you,  my  lord,  to  whom  I  have  ever  given  all  my  heart 
But  as  for  the  dowry  which  you  say  I  brought  with  me,  I  re- 
member well  what  it  was :  it  was  my  poor  clothes  that  I  wore  in 
my  father's  house.  Let  me,  then,  go  in  my  old  smock  back  to 
him.  Ah,  how  gentle  and  how  kind  you  were  when  you  took 
me  from  him!  Love  when  it  is  old  is  not  the  same  as  when  it  is 


THE  CLERK'S  TALE  157 

new;  nevertheless,  though  I  have  lost  your  love,  I  will  never  in 
word  or  deed  repent  that  I  gave  you  my  heart.' 

"  'You  may  take  the  old  smock  and  go,'  said  Walter.  Scarcely 
another  word  could  he  speak,  but  went  away  with  great  pity  in 
his  heart. 

"Before  them  all  Griselda  stripped  off  her  fine  clothes,  and 
went  forth  clad  only  in  her  smock,  barefoot  and  bareheaded. 
The  people  followed  her  weeping  and  railing  at  her  hard  lot, 
but  she  made  no  complaint,  and  spoke  never  a  word.  Her 
father  met  her  at  his  door,  lamenting  the  day  that  he  saw  her 
cast  off  thus.  He  had  ever  looked  askance  at  the  marriage,  and 
thought  that  as  soon  as  the  marquis  had  wearied  of  Griselda  he 
would  begin  to  despise  her,  and  would  in  the  end  send  her 
away. 

"So  Griselda  went  home  and  lived  for  a  while  with  Janicola 
as  though  she  had  never  left  him.  She  was  as  gentle  and  humble 
as  of  old,  and  never  showed  that  she  remembered  the  days  of  her 
high  estate. 

"At  length  the  Count  drew  near  from  Bologna  with  Griselda's 
son  and  daughter.  The  news  spread  among  the  people,  and 
everyone  talked  of  the  grand  wife  who  was  coming  to  be  married 
to  the  marquis  with  such  splendor  as  had  never  been  seen  in  all 
West  Lombardy. 

"When  Walter  heard  of  their  approach,  he  sent  for  Griselda. 
She  came  humbly  and  reverently,  and  knelt  before  him. 

"  'Griselda,'  said  he,  'I  desire  that  the  lady  whom  I  am  to  wed 
shall  be  received  to-morrow  as  royally  as  may  be.  I  have  no 
woman  who  can  make  all  the  preparations  for  this,  and  arrange 
that  every  one  shall  be  placed  according  to  his  proper  rank,  and 
I  have  sent  for  you  to  do  it,  since  you  know  my  ways  of  old. 


158  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

Your  garments  are  poor  and  mean,  but  you  will  do  your  duty  as 
well  as  you  can.' 

"  'I  am  glad  always  to  do  your  will,  my  lord,'  she  answered. 
With  that  she  turned  to  her  task  of  setting  the  house  in  order  for 
the  guests  of  the  marquis. 

"The  next  morning  the  Count  of  Bologna  arrived  with 
Griselda's  son  and  daughter.  All  the  people  ran  out  to  see  the 
fine  sight,  and  when  they  looked  at  the  girl,  whom  they  supposed 
to  be  Walter's  new  wife,  they  thought  that  he  had  done  well  and 
made  a  change  for  the  better.  She  was  younger  and  even  fairer 
than  Griselda,  and  the  fickle  people,  ever  changeable  as  a 
weathercock,  were  full  of  praises  for  the  choice  of  the  marquis. 

"Griselda  had  made  everything  ready,  and  went  into  the  court- 
yard of  the  palace  with  the  other  folk  to  greet  the  marquis  and 
his  bride.  When  the  procession  reached  the  banquet-hall,  she 
took  no  shame  in  her  torn  old  clothes,  but  went  busily  about  her 
work  with  a  cheerful  face,  showing  the  guests  each  to  his  ap- 
pointed place.  They  wondered  who  it  was  that  was  so  prudent 
and  courteous  and  skillful  in  spite  of  her  poor  appearance. 

"At  length,  when  they  were  all  sitting  down  to  the  feast, 
Walter  called  out  to  her  as  she  busied  herself  in  the  great 
hall. 

"  'Griselda,'  he  cried,  as  if  in  jest,  'what  think  you  of  my  wife?' 

"  'Never  have  I  looked  upon  a  fairer  maiden,  my  lord,'  she 
answered.  'I  pray  that  you  may  have  all  prosperity  to  your 
lives'  end.  One  thing  only  I  ask  of  you — that  you  do  not  tor- 
ment her  as  you  did  me;  for  she  is  tenderly  brought  up,  and 
could  not  bear  hardship  as  well  as  I,  who  was  poorly  bred.' 

"When  Walter  heard  her  gentle  answer,  and  saw  that  even 
now  she  had  no  discontent  or  malice  for  all  the  wrong  he  had 


THE  CLERK'S  TALE  159 

done  her,  he  relented  at  last,  and  blamed  himself  sorely  for  his 
cruelty. 

"  'Enough,  Griselda,'  he  said,  'be  not  ill  at  ease  any  longer.  I 
have  tried  and  tested  your  faithfulness  and  goodness,  and  I  know 
your  true  heart,  dear  wife.' 

"He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her,  but  she  was  so  filled 
with  wonder  that  she  hardly  heard  what  he  said  till  he  spoke 
again. 

"  'Griselda,  you  are  my  wife,  and  I  will  have  no  other.  This 
is  your  daughter,  who  you  thought  was  my  new  bride,  and  this 
your  son,  who  shall  be  my  heir;  they  have  been  kept  and  brought 
up  secretly  at  Bologna.  Take  them  again,  and  see  for  yourself 
that  your  children  are  safe.  Let  no  one  think  evil  of  me  for  my 
cruelty;  I  did  it  but  to  make  trial  of  my  wife's  goodness  and  show 
it  the  more  brightly.' 

"Griselda  swooned  for  joy  at  his  words.  When  she  came  to 
her  senses  again,  she  thanked  Heaven  for  restoring  her  children 
to  her.  'And  I  thank  you,  too,  my  lord.  Now  I  fear  nothing, 
not  even  death  itself,  since  I  have  truly  won  your  love.  Dear 
children,  God  of  His  mercy  has  brought  you  back  to  me.' 

"But  suddenly  she  swooned  again.  Walter  raised  her  up  and 
comforted  her  till  everyone  wept  at  the  touching  sight.  Then 
the  ladies  of  the  Court  took  her  into  a  chamber  apart,  and  dressed 
her  in  splendid  robes  again,  and  set  a  golden  crown  on  her  head, 
and  brought  her  back  into  the  banquet-hall,  where  she  was  hon- 
ored as  she  deserved  with  feasting  and  rejoicing  that  lasted  all 
that  day. 

"Full  many  a  year  Walter  and  Griselda  lived  together  in  hap- 
piness and  peace.  Janicola,  too,  was  brought  to  the  Court,  and 
dwelt  there  with  them  till  at  last  the  soul  crept  out  of  his  body. 


160  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

Their  daughter  was  married  to  one  of  the  greatest  lords  in  all 
Italy,  and  their  son  succeeded  Walter  at  his  death,  and  ruled 
well  and  prosperously;  but  when  he  married  he  never  put  his 
wife  to  such  a  test  as  Walter  did  Griselda." 


"GRISELDA  IS  DEAD,  AND  HER  PATIENCE 

TOO" 

I  HAVE  told  you  this  story,"  the  Clerk  went  on  at  the  end 
of  his  tale,  "not  to  prove  that  all  wives  should  be  so  very 
humble  as  Griselda  was,  nor  to  contradict  the  Good-wife  of 
Bath's  opinion  that  women  should  rule  their  husbands,  but  to 
show  you  a  noble  example  of  courage  and  patience  under  mis- 
fortune. If  Griselda  could  endure  so  much  at  the  hands  of  her 
husband,  how  much  the  more  ought  we  to  bear  patiently  what- 
ever God  sends  us !  Yet  I  think,  sirs,  that  it  would  be  hard  to 
find  in  any  town  nowadays  even  so  few  as  two  or  three  Gri- 
selda's." 

Then  the  Clerk  sang  the  pilgrims  a  little  song  which  he  had 
made  about  the  duty  of  wives. 

When  he  had  at  last  made  an  end,  the  Host  praised  the  moral 
of  the  tale,  and  said  he  would  be  glad  if  that  one  also  could  be 
told  to  his  wife  to  teach  her  gentler  manners. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Merchant,  whose  solemn  face,  with  its  forked 
beard,  showed  how  grave  and  wealthy  a  man  he  was — "yes,  we 
have  many  troubles.  I,  too,  have  a  shrew  for  a  wife,  as  unlike 
patient  Griselda  as  well  could  be.  Look  you,  Host,  I  have  only 
been  wedded  these  two  months,  but  a  man  who  had  lived  single 
all  his  life  long  would  not  have  such  a  tale  of  sorrow  to  tell  as  I 
,  and  all  through  my  wife's  cruelty." 


"GRISELDA  IS  DEAD"  161 

'Well,  since  you  know  so  much,  tell  us  a  story  on  this  sub- 
ject," said  the  Host,  perhaps  surprised  at  such  words  from  the 
Merchant,  whose  talk  usually  ran  all  upon  his  money  and  his 
profits. 

But  that  worthy  man  was  very  skilled  at  hiding  his  real 
thoughts  and  doings;  he  was  so  grand  and  overbearing  in  his 
way  of  doing  business  that  no  one  ever  guessed  that  he  was 
really  deep  in  debt. 

"Gladly,"  answered  the  Merchant;  "but  it  would  give  me  very 
great  pain  to  tell  you  my  story.  Listen  to  a  tale  of  a  young 
wife  who  tried  to  cheat  her  old  husband." 

The  tale  which  followed  was  about  an  old  knight  named 
January,  who  married  a  fair  and  false  young  wife  called  May. 
January  was  blind,  and  May  at  length  plotted  to  take  advantage 
of  his  blindness,  and  run  away  with  her  true  lover,  one  Damian; 
for  she  did  not  love  January,  but  only  married  him  for  the  sake 
of  his  wealth.  One  day,  then,  as  she  walked  with  her  husband  in 
their  garden,  she  ran  off  to  Damian,  who  was  hidden  close  by. 
But  by  a  strange  miracle  the  old  knight's  sight  was  suddenly  re- 
stored to  him,  so  that  he  saw  her  going;  and  though  she  made  a 
clever  excuse,  he  took  her  home  again,  and  kept  her  more  safely. 

The  Merchant  and  the  Host,  as  you  see,  were  completely  ruled 
by  their  shrewish  wives ;  and  the  Host's  thoughts,  now  that  he 
was  for  a  little  while  away  from  home  and  free  from  this  tyr- 
anny, were  continually  running  on  the  subject.  He  broke  out 
again  at  the  end  of  the  Merchant's  tale. 

"I  am  glad  to  think  that  my  wife  would  not  do  such  a  thing 
as  that,"  he  said;  "but  she  has  a  tireless  tongue,  and  many  an- 
other bad  habit  which  it  would  be  foolish  of  me  to  tell  you,  for 
she  would  be  sure  to  hear  of  it  from  some  one  of  this  company. 


i62  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

And,  besides,  I  am  not  clever  enough  to  reveal  all  her  faults  to 
you,  so  that  I  must  hold  my  peace;  but  I  tell  you  that  I  am  sorry 
I  ever  married  her." 

It  was  now  growing  late,  and  the  pilgrims  ceased  story-telling 
for  that  day.  They  stopped  for  the  night,  so  we  are  told,  at 
Ospringe. 


THE  FIFTH  DAY 
THE  SQUIRE 

THE  knight's  son  was  a  fine,  well-built  young  man,  about 
twenty  years  of  age,  and  as  fresh  as  the  month  of  May 
itself.  His  hair  was  curled,  his  clothes  embroidered  all 
over  with  red  and  white  flowers,  like  a  meadow.  All  day  long 
he  was  singing  or  whistling  on  his  flute,  for  his  mind  was  always 
running  on  his  ladylove,  and  at  night  he  was  as  wakeful  as  a 
nightingale  through  thinking  of  her.  He  was  very  strong  and 
active,  and  had  been  to  the  wars  in  Flanders,  Artois,  and  Picardy, 
where  he  had  borne  himself  well  in  the  hope  of  winning  his 
lady's  favor  by  his  prowess. 

He  was  wearing  a  short  gown  with  long  wide  sleeves,  and 
showed  himself  a  skillful  rider,  sitting  his  horse  well ;  and  he  was 
ever  courteous  and  gentle  in  his  mien. 

It  was  to  him  that  the  Host  first  turned  for  a  tale  on  the  fifth 
morning  of  the  pilgrimage,  knowing  that  he  was  clever  at  mak- 
ing songs  and  ballads,  as  well  as  at  jousting  and  dancing. 

"Come  nearer,  Squire,"  said  Harry  Bailly,  "and  tell  us  some 
love-story,  if  you  will.  You  must  know  as  much  of  love  as  any 


man." 


"Nay,  sir,"  answered  the  Squire.  "I  will  tell  you  the  best 
that  I  can,  with  hearty  good-will.  I  cannot  rebel  against  your 
orders.  Hold  me  excused  if  I  speak  amiss,  for  I  can  but  try  to 
do  well.  Here  is  my  tale." 

163 


THE  SQUIRE'S  TALE 
'THE  STORY  OF  CAMBUSCAN  BOLD" 

I. — THE  MAGIC  GIFTS  AND  THE  FALSE  TERCELET 

AT  Sarray,  in  the  land  of  Tartary,  there  once  dwelt  a  king 
who  made  war  on  Russia,  and  did  many  other  deeds  of 
valor.  His  name  was  Cambuscan,  and  he  was  the  most 
famous  monarch  of  his  time.  Nowhere  was  there  so  good  a 
ruler  to  be  found,  for  he  was  just,  wise,  and  prosperous,  as  well 
as  strong  and  manly,  and  he  lacked  nothing  that  a  king  should 
have. 

"His  wife's  name  was  Elpheta,  and  they  had  two  sons  and  one 
daughter.  The  elder  of  the  sons  was  called  Algarsif,  and  the 
younger  Camballo.  The  daughter  was  named  Canacee,  and  she 
was  the  youngest  of  them  all ;  but  I  know  no  words  good  enough 
to  tell  you  of  her  beauty. 

"When  Cambuscan  had  reigned  twenty  years,  he  made  up  his 
mind  that  the  feast  which  was  every  year  held  upon  his  birth- 
day should  this  year  be  more  splendid  than  ever  before.  He 
caused  a  holiday  to  be  proclaimed  throughout  his  kingdom,  and 
made  everything  ready  for  a  great  festival  on  the  fifteenth  of 
March,  just  at  the  time  when  spring  is  beginning  and  men  (like 
birds  in  the  sunshine)  are  rejoicing  in  being  free  from  the  keen 
sword  of  cold  winter. 

"It  would  take  me  a  full  summer's  day  if  I  were  to  tell  you  of 

all  the  marvels  of  this  birthday's  feast,  all  the  dainty  dishes  that 

164 


THE  SQUIRE'S  TALE  165 

were  served  up,  the  swans  and  herons  that  were  cooked  with  all 
kinds  of  wonderful  sauces.  But  it  is  nigh  upon  nine  o'clock,  and 
I  must  turn  to  my  story. 

"Cambuscan  was  sitting  on  a  high  dais  in  the  great  hall  wrhere 
the  feast  was  being  held,  clad  in  royal  robes,  with  a  diadem  upon 
his  head.  The  third  course  was  done,  and  the  minstrels  were 
playing  their  sweetest  music,  when  suddenly  the  doors  were 
thrown  open,  and  a  strange  knight  rode  in  all  alone.  He  was 
mounted  upon  a  steed  of  brass;  in  his  hand  he  carried  a  broad 
mirror  of  glass;  on  his  thumb  was  a  golden  ring,  and  a  naked 
sword  hung  at  his  side.  He  was  fully  armed,  save  that  his  head 
was  bare. 

"He  rode  straight  up  to  the  dais  where  King  Cambuscan  sat. 
In  all  the  hall  not  a  word  was  spoken;  old  and  young  alike  stood 
silent,  marveling  at  the  sight,  and  watching  to  see  what  the 
knight  would  do.  When  he  reached  the  dais  he  saluted  the  king 
and  queen,  and  then  all  the  knights  and  ladies  in  the  hall  in  turn, 
so  honorably  and  reverently  that  not  even  Sir  Gawain  the 
Courteous  could  better  it,  if  he  were  to  come  back  from  Fairy- 
land. Then  he  turned  again  to  the  king,  and  in  a  clear,  manly 
voice  told  his  errand. 

"  'My  liege  lord  the  King  of  Arabia  and  India  greets  you  on 
this  your  birthday,  sire,'  he  said,  'and  sends  by  my  hand  these 
gifts  in  honor  of  it:  first,  this  Horse  of  Brass,  which  will  carry 
you  whithersoever  you  please,  however  far,  within  the  space  of 
twenty-four  hours;  or  if  you  wish  to  fly  in  the  air  as  high  as  a 
soaring  eagle,  this  Horse  will  carry  you  thither  without  harm, 
and  take  you  back  again  at  the  mere  turning  of  a  pin.  On  his 
back  you  are  always  safe,  even  if  you  go  to  sleep. 

"  'This  Mirror  that  I  have  in  my  hand  has  the  power  of  show- 


166  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

ing  when  any  misfortune  is  about  to  fall  on  you  or  your  king- 
dom. In  it  also  you  can  see  who  is  your  friend  and  who  your 
foe.  Or  if  any  lady  has  set  her  heart  on  a  lover,  and  he  is  false 
to  her,  she  will  see  in  the  mirror  all  his  treachery. 

"  'The  Mirror,  with  this  Ring,  my  lord  sends  as  gifts  to  honor 
your  fair  daughter  the  Lady  Canacee.  The  Ring  has  this 
power — that  if  she  puts  it  on  her  thumb,  or  carries  it  in  her  purse, 
she  can  understand  the  voice  of  every  bird  under  the  sun,  and 
know  all  plants  that  grow,  and  which  of  them  will  heal  the 
deadliest  wounds. 

"  'This  Sword  hanging  by  my  side  has  such  strength  that  it 
will  cut  and  bite  through  any  armor,  even  if  it  be  as  thick  as  oak; 
and  whoever  is  wounded  with  it  will  never  be  healed  till  his 
wound  be  stroked  with  the  flat  of  the  blade.  If  that  be  done,  the 
place  will  close  instantly.' 

"When  the  knight  had  thus  told  his  tale,  he  rode  the  horse  out 
of  the  hall  and  again  dismounted,  and  was  taken  to  a  chamber 
to  array  himself  for  the  feast.  The  Mirror  and  the  Sword  were 
put  in  a  high  tower  under  charge  of  a  guard,  and  the  Ring  was 
given  to  Canacee  then  and  there. 

"But  the  Horse  of  Brass  remained  in  the  courtyard  where 
the  knight  had  left  it  after  dismounting.  No  one  could  move  it; 
it  stood  stock-still,  as  if  glued  to  the  ground.  The  people 
swarmed  round  to  gaze  on  the  wonderful  gift,  and  marveled  at 
its  beauty,  for  it  was  as  well-fashioned  as  the  finest  Lombard 
steed,  and  tall  and  strong  as  well.  They  pressed  to  see  it,  mur- 
muring like  a  swarm  of  bees,  and  there  were  as  many  opinions 
about  it  as  there  were  people.  Some  guessed  that  it  had  been 
made  by  magic ;  others  recalled  old  legends  about  famous  horses. 

"  *I  am  terribly  afraid,'  said  one.     'I  think  there  must  be  men- 


THE  SQUIRE'S  TALE  167 

at-arms  hidden  inside  the  beast,  as  there  were  in  the  Greek  horse 
by  means  of  which  Troy  was  taken.' 

"  'Nay,  not  so,'  said  another.  'It  is  no  horse  at  all,  but  some 
shape  made  by  magic  to  deceive  us.' 

"  'I  think  it  is  Pegasus,  the  winged  horse  of  Bellerophon,'  said 
a  third. 

"And  so  they  went  on  guessing  about  the  horse  and  the  other 
gifts  until  the  king  was  ready  to  leave  the  feast,  which  was  being 
renewed  and  continued  more  joyously  than  ever. 

"When  at  length  the  great  banquet  was  ended,  Cambuscan 
went  down  from  the  dais,  with  his  minstrels  playing  before  him, 
to  his  council-chamber,  where  they  danced  and  reveled  all  the 
afternoon.  After  the  dancing,  they  went  to  a  temple  to  worship, 
and  then  came  back  to  a  great  supper;  and  last  of  all,  in  the 
evening,  when  the  supper  was  done,  the  king  and  all  his  lords 
and  ladies  came  down  to  see  the  horse  go  through  its  paces. 

"The  knight  laid  his  hand  on  the  beast's  rein,  and  it  began  to 
prance  and  paw  the  air. 

"  'That  is  all  you  need  to  do,  sire,'  said  the  knight.  'If  you 
wish  to  ride  anywhere,  turn  a  pin  which  is  hidden  in  his  ear.  I 
will  show  it  to  you  exactly  in  secret.  You  must  tell  the  horse  to 
what  country  you  wish  to  go,  and  when  you  get  there  bid  him 
descend,  and  turn  another  pin.  He  will  do  as  you  command 
him,  and  will  stay  there  until  you  order  him  to  go  again.  Or, 
if  you  do  not  wish  him  to  be  seen,  turn  this  pin,  and  he  will 
vanish  altogether  from  sight;  but  he  will  come  back  again,  be  it 
day  or  night,  whenever  you  call  him  in  a  way  which  I  will  tell 
you.' 

"So  the  king  was  given  the  horse  and  kept  it,  and  thus  his 
birthday  came  to  an  end.  The  knight  took  his  leave  and  went 


168  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

back  to  his  master,  and  when  all  the  merriment  was  ended  every- 
oie  went  to  bed. 

"The  day  had  been  a  long  one,  and  the  people,  wearied  after 
their  revelry,  slept  soundly  far  into  the  next  morning.  But 
Canacee  had  such  joy  iri  her  curious  Ring  and  her  Mirror  that 
she  could  hardly  take  her  eyes  of!  them,  and  as  soon  as  she  slept 
she  dreamed  of  them.  So  her  slumber  was  light,  and  she  awoke 
early,  and  called  her  old  governess,  who  slept  beside  her. 

"  'I  wish  to  rise,'  she  said,  when  she  had  roused  the  old  woman ; 
*I  can  sleep  no  longer,  but  would  walk  about.' 

"  Why  so  early?'  asked  the  nurse;  'all  other  folk  are  still  rest- 
ing.' 

uBut  Canacee  would  have  her  way,  and  she  went  forth  with 
five  or  six  of  her  maidens  about  the  time  when  the  bright  sun  was 
beginning  to  show.  They  walked  down  a  little  path  in  the  park 
of  the  palace,  playing  and  talking  together  all  the  way;  Canacee 
was  as  fresh  and  lovely  as  the  light  itself.  The  sun  seemed  red 
and  swollen  through  the  mist  which  was  gliding  from  the  earth 
as  the  day  broke;  none  the  less  his  beams  filled  their  hearts  with 
gladness  as  they  heard  the  little  birds  greeting  the  morn. 

"Canacee  could  understand  all  that  the  birds  were  saying,  for 
she  was  wearing  the  Magic  Ring,  and  she  delighted  to  listen  to 
their  merry  notes.  But  suddenly  she  heard  a  voice  which  struck 
her  with  deep  sorrow. 

"Right  before  her,  on  a  bough  of  a  withered  tree,  sat  a  pere- 
grine falcon,  as  white  as  chalk,  and  seemingly  from  some  far-off 
land,  wailing  and  weeping  most  pitifully.  She  was  beating  her 
wings  and  pecking  her  breast  till  the  blood  ran  down  on  to  the 
tree,  so  that  even  a  tiger  would  have  been  moved  to  compassion 
at  the  sight. 


r 


'WHAT  is  THE  CAUSE  OF  YOUR  SORROW?'  ASKED  THE  PRINCESS 
GENTLY" — PAGE  169 


THE  SQUIRE'S  TALE  169 

"Canacee  heard  and  understood  the  falcon's  lamentations,  and 
went  and  stood  under  the  tree,  with  the  lap  of  her  dress  held  out 
to  catch  the  bird  if  she  swooned  and  fell  from  weariness  and  loss 
of  blood. 

"  What  is  the  cause  of  your  sorrow?'  asked  the  princess  gently, 
speaking  in  the  falcon's  own  language,  by  virtue  of  her  Ring. 
Why  do  you  thus  wound  yourself?  Come  down  from  the  tree, 
and,  on  my  word  as  a  king's  daughter,  if  you  will  tell  me  the 
reason  of  your  distress,  I  will  aid  you  if  it  is  in  my  power,  and 
will  choose  herbs  to  cure  your  wounds.' 

"But  the  falcon  only  cried  the  more  bitterly,  and  fell  down 
from  the  tree  in  a  swoon.  Canacee  caught  her  and  comforted 
her,  and  at  length  the  bird  was  able  to  speak  again. 

"  'I  see  that  gentle  hearts  are  easily  moved  to  pity,  as  the 
proverb  tells  us,'  she  said.  'Though  your  help  can  avail  me 
little,  I  will  reveal  to  you  my  story  and  the  wrong  that  has  been 
done  me,  that  others  may  take  warning  by  it.' 

"Canacee  was  weeping  for  very  compassion,  but  the  falcon 
bade  her  dry  her  tears,  and  told  her  tale  thus : 

"  'Once  I  dwelt  (alas  for  that  sorrowful  day!)  by  a  marble 
rock  in  a  far-off  land,  living  tenderly  and  honorably,  with  no 
knowledge  of  adversity;  there  I  had  lived  all  my  life,  and  there 
it  was  that  I  loved  another  falcon,  a  tercelet,  whose  dwelling  was 
hard  by.  He  seemed  to  be  gentle  and  noble,  but  in  truth  he  was 
full  of  treason  and  falsehood,  which  he  hid  skillfully  under  a 
mien  so  humble  and  courteous  that  none  would  have  thought  his 
love  feigned.  .  To  me  he  was  a  serpent  lurking  unseen  amid 
flowers,  for  by  his  arts  he  won  my  love,  and  I  gave  him  all 
my  heart.  And  when  he  saw  that  I  thought  of  nothing  else  than 
himself,  he  did  but  add  to  his  loving  ways  and  gracious  tender- 


i7o  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

ness,  so  that  my  whole  life  seemed  to  hang  upon  him.  Thus 
for  a  year  or  two  we  continued,  until  one  day  it  was  needful  for 
him  to  depart  and  go  to  another  place.  I  cannot  tell  you  my 
woe  thereat,  but  surely  it  was  as  the  pains  of  death.  So  one 
day  he  took  leave  of  me,  so  sorrowfully  that  I  believed  he  felt  as 
much  grief  as  I.  I  thought  that  he  was  true,  and  that  he  would 
come  back  to  me  again  in  a  little  while;  and  since  honor  bade 
him  go,  I  made  a  virtue  of  necessity,  and  bore  as  well  as  I  could 
what  could  not  be  helped.  Why  should  I  tell  you  all  that  he 
said  to  me?  Who  sups  with  a  fiend  needs  a  long  spoon,  they 
say,  and  I  was  easily  beguiled.  When  he  was  absent  from  me, 
for  all  that  he  was  nobly  born,  and  fresh  and  gay  and  courteous 
enough  to  me,  his  love  for  me  all  vanished  clean  away  at  the 
sight  of  a  kite  whom  he  saw  flying  one  day.  Thus  he  has  been 
false  to  his  troth,  and  I  know  not  where  he  is  now.' 

"With  that  the  falcon  fell  to  weeping  once  more.  Canacee 
told  her  maidens  the  story,  and  they,  too,  wept  at  the  tercelet' s 
cruelty.  Then  Canacee  took  the  falcon  home  with  her,  and 
bound  up  her  wounds  with  herbs  such  as  she  knew  by  virtue  of 
the  Ring  to  have  healing  powers.  A  little  nest  was  made  for 
the  bird  close  by  her  bed,  and  it  was  lined  inside  with  blue  velvet, 
for  blue  is  the  color  of  constancy  such  as  the  falcon's ;  but  all  out- 
side it  was  painted  green,  to  signify  the  treachery  of  her  lover. 

"Now  for  a  time  I  will  leave  the  falcon,  and  speak  of  the  wed- 
ding of  Canacee,  whereat  Camballo  fought  in  the  lists  with  three 
brothers;  and  afterwards  I  will  tell  you  how  the  tercelet  was 
found  again,  and  how  Algarsif  won  the  Princess  Theodora  for 
his  wife,  and  other  marvelous  adventures." 


THE  SQUIRE'S  TALE  171 


II.— THE  BRETHREN  THREE* 

"Canacee  was  the  loveliest  and  wisest  princess  of  her  time, 
well  seen  in  every  science  and  every  secret  work  of  nature,  in 
prophecy,  and  in  the  powers  of  herbs  and  the  notes  of  birds  and 
beasts  (for  she  knew  many  of  these  things  even  without  her 
Ring) ,  and  many  great  lords  and  knights  had  sought  to  win  her 
hand.  But  all  in  vain.  In  spite  of  all  her  beauty  and  wisdom 
and  gentleness  she  would  neither  marry  nor  give  any  of  them  so 
much  as  a  word  or  even  a  look  of  hope.  Yet  the  more  she  re- 
fused to  love  any  one  of  them  the  more  they  sought  to  win  her, 
so  that  unquiet  strife  moved  often  among  them,  and  brought 
about  great  quarrels,  and  many  a  time  they  fought  deadly  battles 
for  her  sake. 

"Camballo,  her  brother,  was  a  knight  of  prudence  and  cour- 
age, and  he  feared  that  some  mischief  would  spring  from  their 
jealousies.  At  length  he  bethought  him  how  to  prevent  the  peril 
that  might  arise,  and  to  turn  their  quarrels  to  account,  so  as  to 
bring  honor  both  to  Canacee  and  to  himself.  He  ordered  it  to 
be  proclaimed  to  the  suitors,  as  they  were  all  assembled  one  day 
together  to  dispute  about  the  hand  of  the  princess,  that  he  would 
hold  a  great  tournament:  the  suitors  were  to  choose  the  three  most 
valiant  knights  out  of  their  number,  who  should  fight  with  him 
one  after  another,  and  the  victor  should  wed  Canacee  if  he  could 
overcome  Camballo. 

"The  challenge  was  bold,  for  Camballo  himself  was  a  bold 
knight,  but  he  had  good  hope  of  victory,  for  Canacee  lent  him  the 

*  Part  II.  of  this  story  is  taken  from  Spenser's  continuation  of  the  Squire's  tale,  which 
Chaucer  left  unfinished. 


[172  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

Magic  Ring,  by  whose  aid  he  would  be  able  to  heal  his  wounds 
in  a  moment. 

"The  Ring's  power  was  well  known  to  all,  and  it  struck  such 
fear  into  the  suitors  that  none  of  them  would  essay  the  fight,  for 
it  seemed  to  them  that  they  could  not  possibly  conquer  against 
such  odds.  So  they  all  withdrew,  one  after  another,  and  gave  up 
their  hopes  of  winning  the  princess  until  only  three  were  left 
who  dared  take  up  Camballo's  challenge. 

"These  three  knights,  whose  great  love  for  Canacee  made 
them  disdain  all  dangers,  were  named  Priamond,  Diamond,  and 
Triamond.  They  were  brothers,  the  sons  of  a  fairy  named 
Agape. 

Diamond  was  stronger  than  Priamond,  but  not  so  won- 
drously  brave,  though  brave  enough,  but  Triamond  was  braver 
and  stronger  than  either.  Triamond  liked  best  to  fight  on  horse- 
back with  spear  and  shield;  Priamond,  on  foot  with  a  sword; 
but  Diamond  did  battle  either  on  foot  or  mounted,  with  spear 
or  sword. 

"These  three  brothers  loved  one  another  dearly,  and  were 
bound  together  by  such  firm  affection  that  it  seemed  as  if  they 
had  but  one  mind  and  one  heart  between  them.  Their  mother 
the  fairy  had  brought  them  up  with  her  in  the  forest  where  she 
dwelt,  and  taught  them  ever  to  stand  by  one  another  in  love  and 
friendship,  because  she  herself  knew  how  soon  their  lives  might 
end,  having  learnt  their  fates  in  this  wise. 

"As  they  grew  to  be  young  men  she  had  seen  how  fond  they 
were  of  war  and  arms;  they  were  always  seeking  new  dangers 
and  rash  adventures  wherever  they  could  be  found,  so  that  she 
feared  they  might  meet  with  sudden  death  in  some  chance  fight. 
She  made  up  her  mind  to  go  below  the  earth  to  the  regions  of 


THE  SQUIRE'S  TALE  173 

the  dead,  where  live  the  Fates  who  spin  the  threads  of  men's 
lives,  and  inquire  of  them  concerning  her  sons. 

"Her  magic  arts  led  her  safely  down  the  dark  abyss  where 
Demogorgon  dwells,  far  from  the  sight  of  gods  and  mankind. 
There  she  found  the  home  of  the  Three  Sisters  whom  men  call 
the  Fates.  They  were  sitting  with  the  distaff  of  Fate  in  their 
midst,  drawing  out  from  it  with  unwearying  fingers  the  threads 
of  life,  which  no  mortal  man  can  know.  Sad  Clotho  held  the 
distaff,  grim  Lachesis  spun  the  thread,  and  Atropos  ever  and 
again  cut  the  lines  short  with  her  cruel  knife.  When  a  man's 
thread  was  cut,  then  it  was  fated  for  him  to  die. 

"Agape  saluted  the  dread  Sisters  and  stood  silent,  watching 
the  threads  spun  out.  When  she  had  looked  her  fill  she  began 
to  tell  the  reason  of  her  coming,  trembling  at  heart,  her  face 
pale  and  wan. 

"  'Bold  fay,'  answered  Atropos,  'are  you  come  here  to  see  the 
secret  of  man's  life?  You  deserve  that  your  children's  thread 
should  be  broken  for  your  daring!' 

"Agape  was  sore  afraid,  yet  nevertheless  she  besought  the 
Fates  to  grant  her  boon,  and  let  her  see  her  sons'  threads,  and 
know  the  span  of  their  lives. 

"The  Sisters  yielded,  and  Clotho  drew  out  the  three  threads. 
But  when  she  saw  them  Agape  was  filled  with  woe,  for  they  were 
as  thin  as  spiders'  webs,  and  so  short  that  they  seemed  to  come  to 
an  end  almost  at  once.  She  fell  to  begging  and  praying  the 
Fates  to  draw  them  out  further,  and  twine  them  more  strongly, 
so  that  her  sons  might  live  longer. 

"  'Nay,'  answered  Lachesis,  'these  are  not  human  things  that 
can  be  altered  at  will.  What  the  Fates  once  decree  not  all  the 
gods  can  alter,  not  even  great  Jove  himself.' 


174  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"  'Then  if  the  term  of  no  man's  life  may  be  lessened  or  made 
longer,  grant  me  this  one  thing,'  said  Agape — 'that  when  you  cut 
with  your  deadly  knife  my  Priamond's  thread,  which  I  see  is 
the  shortest,  his  life  and  strength  may  pass  into  Diamond,  and 
when  Diamond's  turn  comes  also,  that  Triamond  may  have  the 
lives  of  both  joined  on  to  his  own.' 

"They  granted  it,  and  she  went  away  content.  Ever  after 
she  strove  to  increase  the  love  the  three  brothers  bore  to  one  an- 
other, though  she  told  them  nothing  of  what  she  knew  of  their 
fates.  And  thus  through  all  their  days  discord  never  came  be- 
tween them,  not  even  when  they  all  three  loved  Canacee. 

"Priamond,  Diamond,  and  Triamond,  then,  made  up  their 
minds  to  fight  Camballo  for  Canacee.  A  day  was  fixed  for  the 
tournament,  and  the  knights  gave  pledges  that  they  would  be 
present  and  obey  the  judges,  and  at  length  the  time  came. 

"A  barrier  was  set  all  round  the  lists  to  keep  back  the  press 
of  people  who  had  come  to  see  the  combat.  On  one  side  sat  the 
six  knights  who  were  to  be  the  judges  of  the  deeds  of  arms  done 
that  day;  on  the  other  Canacee  was  seated  in  fresh  array  on  a 
richly-decked  throne,  waiting  to  see  who  would  prove  his  right 
to  her  by  his  valor  in  the  fray. 

"Camballo  came  first  into  the  lists,  with  fearless  mien  and 
stately  steps,  as  if  sure  of  victory.  A  little  afterwards  the  three 
brothers  advanced,  bearing  themselves  nobly  and  proudly,  with 
escutcheons  brightly  gilt  and  banners  displayed.  They  did  each 
a  low  reverence  to  Canacee,  while  shrill  trumpets  and  loud 
clarions  filled  the  air  with  music. 

"The  challenger,  Camballo,  stood  forth  fully  armed  to  up- 
hold his  challenge,  and  Sir  Priamond  came  out  to  oppose  him. 
A  trumpet  sounded,  and  the  tournament  began. 


THE  SQUIRE'S  TALE  175 

"The  two  knights  were  doughty  and  well  matched,  and  it  was 
hard  to  tell  which  would  prove  the  stronger.  Many  a  mighty 
blow  did  they  aim  at  one  another,  but  for  a  long  time  without 
avail,  until  at  last  a  fierce  thrust  of  Priamond's  spear  pierced 
Camballo's  armor  on  the  shoulder,  and  caused  him  to  lower  his 
shield.  The  pain  filled  him  with  mad  rage,  and  he  drove  his 
spear  so  terribly  against  Priamond's  shield  that  it  passed  it  and 
ran  deep  into  his  side,  and  the  blood  began  to  pour  from  the 
wound. 

"Priamond  staggered  and  reeled  like  an  old  withered  oak 
in  a  storm,  and  Camballo,  seeing  his  distress,  drove  at  him  again 
and  wounded  him  in  the  side  once  more.  The  spear  stuck,  and 
Camballo  broke  the  shaft  off  short,  leaving  the  head  in  the 
wound. 

"  ' Villain  I'  cried  Priamond,  'you  shall  have  your  desert!  So 
far  I  have  spared  you  not  for  your  own  sake,  but  for  your  sister's. 
Take  now  the  reward  of  your  proud  challenge!' 

"With  that  he  thrust  at  Camballo  with  his  spear.  The  point 
struck  him  full  in  the  lower  part  of  his  helmet  and  became  fixed 
in  the  joints  of  the  metal,  and  the  shaft  broke  in  half.  Cam- 
ballo bent  back  with  the  force  of  the  blow,  but  recovered,  and 
tore  the  broken  point  fiercely  out  of  his  helmet,  and  cast  it  back 
at  Priamond  with  such  might  that  it  clove  right  through  his 
throat  armor  and  pierced  deep  into  his  neck,  slitting  the  wind- 
pipe in  its  course.  Priamond  fell  back  and  sank  to  the  ground, 
the  blood  rushing  from  his  wounds,  and  in  a  few  moments  he 
was  dead. 

"But  though  he  was  slain  his  life  and  strength  passed  into 
Diamond,  who  came  forward  next  to  oppose  Camballo.  Can> 
baflo  was  soon  ready  afresh,  the  trumpets  sounded  once  more., 


176  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

and  the  two  knights  fell  furiously  upon  one  another  with  great 
axes,  for  they  had  chosen  those  weapons  for  the  second  combat. 

"They  fought  like  two  tigers,  and  soon  their  armor  was  cut 
and  hewed  to  pieces  under  their  tremendous  blows;  each  had  the 
blood  streaming  from  his  wounds,  but  none  were  mortal,  and 
the  spectators  looked  on  in  wonder  and  terror. 

"At  length  Diamond  resolved  to  end  it  one  way  or  the  other. 
He  heaved  his  great  ax  up,  and  aimed  a  terrible  blow  at  his 
enemy.  But  Camballo  contrived  to  ward  it  off,  and  the  ax 
glanced  aside  and  fell  harmlessly.  Diamond  overbalanced  him- 
self with  the  force  he  put  into  the  stroke,  and  his  foot  slipped. 
He  stumbled  and  hardly  recovered  himself,  and  as  he  strove  to 
stand  upright  Camballo  let  drive  at  him  with  all  his  power, 
leaving  his  own  side  unguarded  to  do  it;  his  ax  swung  round 
and  struck  Diamond  on  the  neck,  and  shore  his  head  clean  off 
his  shoulders.  For  a  moment  the  headless  body  stood  upright; 
then  it  fell,  and  the  brave  knight's  life  and  strength  passed  to 
the  third  brother,  Triamond. 

"Camballo,  by  the  aid  of  the  Ring,  stanched  his  own  wounds, 
and  was  soon  able  to  continue  the  fight.  Triamond  leapt  lightly 
forth  to  meet  him,  and  poured  blows  on  him  as  thick  as  hail 
till  the  sparks  flew  from  his  sword  like  drops  of  water  dashing 
against  a  rock.  Camballo  had  to  give  way  before  his  attack 
until  he  had  spent  his  strength  a  little,  and  then  it  was  Tria- 
mond's  turn  to  retreat,  and  he  began  to  grow  faint  and  feeble 
after  his  former  fury. 

"But  Camballo  only  seemed  to  grow  stronger  as  Triamond 
grew  weaker;  he  pressed  him  hard,  and  at  length  drove  his 
sword  through  the  joint  at  the  top  of  his  armor  into  his  throat. 
Triamond  fell,  and  lay  seemingly  lifeless,  but  his  brothers' 


THE  SQUIRE'S  TALE  177 

strength  was  still  in  him,  and  suddenly  he  started  up  again  with 
his  second  life,  like  one  waking  out  of  a  dream,  and  attacked 
Camballo  fiercely  once  more. 

"And  now  Camballo  could  do  little  more  than  defend  himself, 
for  he  was  growing  weary.  When  Triamond  saw  this  he  swung 
his  sword  up  over  his  head  to  end  the  fight  by  one  great  blow, 
and  the  blade  came  crashing  down  on  Camballo's  helmet;  but 
Camballo  at  the  same  time  drove  his  sword  into  Triamond's 
side,  under  his  guard,  as  his  arms  were  lifted  to  strike.  Never- 
theless he  could  not  avoid  the  other's  blow,  and  though  he  broke 
its  force  with  his  shield  it  crashed  heavily  on  his  head,  and  the 
two  knights  both  fell  to  the  ground  together. 

"They  lay  for  a  time  insensible,  and  the  judges  were  beginning 
to  declare  the  end  of  the  tournament.  Suddenly,  almost  at  the 
same  moment,  they  both  started  up  again — Triamond  with  his 
new  life,  and  Camballo  recovered  from  the  swoon  into  which 
Triamond's  blow  had  thrown  him.  In  a  moment  they  fell  to  as 
furiously  as  ever. 

"While  the  issue  still  hung  in  the  balance,  and  all  men's  eyes 
and  hearts  were  busy  with  the  combat,  watching  every  stroke, 
and  eagerly  waiting  to  see  which  would  conquer,  a  noise  was 
heard  as  of  some  tumult,  mingled  with  the  cries  of  women  and 
children. 

"The  two  knights  stood  still  for  a  space  to  learn  what  the 
sudden  clamor  meant,  and  when  they  looked  towards  the  quar- 
ter whence  the  noise  arose  they  saw  a  strangely-equipped  chariot 
whirling  towards  them  in  great  haste.  It  was  bedight  with 
gorgeous  ornaments  of  gold,  and  drawn  by  two  grim  lions.  In 
it  sat  a  lady  passing  fair,  in  whom  beauty  seemed  to  vie  with 
wisdom;  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  fay,  the  daughter,  in  fact,  of 


178  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

Agape  herself,  and  knew  all  magical  lore,  and  by  these  acts  she 
had  learnt  the  sore  danger  in  which  her  brother  Triamond  lay. 

"She  came  to  still  the  deadly  strife  of  Triamond  and  Cam- 
ballo,  and  as  she  urged  her  chariot  towards  the  lists  the  people 
scattered  and  fled  headlong  in  terror  before  her  lions,  thinking 
that  she  would  deal  death  among  them.  But  soon  their  fear 
abated,  for  in  her  right  hand  she  carried  a  rod  of  peace,  whereon 
two  serpents  were  entwined,  crowned  with  a  peaceful  olive- 
wreath,  and  in  her  other  hand  was  a  cup  filled  to  overflowing 
with  nepenthe — a  drink  of  sovereign  grace  devised  by  the  gods 
to  assuage  grief  and  rage  and  set  up  peace  in  the  troubled  mind. 

"When  the  fairy,  whose  name  was  Cambina,  reached  the  bar- 
rier of  the  lists  she  smote  the  rail  lightly  with  her  wand,  and  it 
straightway  flew  open  and  let  her  ride  through.  She  hailed 
her  brother  and  then  Camballo,  for  whom  she  had  secretly  in 
her  heart  deep  love. 

"The  two  knights  returned  her  greeting  none  too  readily,  for 
they  were  both  eager  to  continue  the  battle.  But  when  she  saw 
their  passion  she  began  to  pray  them  earnestly  to  cease  from 
strife,  and  last,  finding  her  entreaty  vain,  she  smote  each  one 
lightly  with  her  magic  wand. 

"At  the  stroke  a  wonderful  change  befell  them :  their  swords 
dropped  helplessly  from  their  hands,  and  they  stood  dumb  and 
amazed.  Then  she  offered  them  her  cup  to  drink,  and  they 
quaffed  the  nepenthe.  As  soon  as  they  had  tasted  it  they  lost 
all  thought  of  fighting.  Instead  they  hastened  to  embrace  one 
another,  and  plighted  their  troth  to  be  fast  friends  for  evermore, 
and  when  the  multitude  saw  peace  made  between  these  two  who 
had  but  now  been  mortal  foes  they  shouted  aloud  for  joy  till  the 
sky  rang. 


THE  SQUIRE'S  TALE  179 

"Canacee  descended  from  her  throne  and  greeted  Cambina 
courteously  when  she  saw  that  the  strife  was  ended,  and  then  all 
the  four,  the  two  knights  and  the  two  princesses,  went  together 
to  Cambuscan's  palace,  where  Camballo  married  Cambina,  and 
Triamond  married  Canacee;  and  never  were  such  lovers  any- 
where as  these  two  knights  and  their  brides." 


III.— FIERCE  WARS  AND  FAITHFUL  LOVES  * 

"When  Canacee  was  wedded,  Triamond,  her  husband,  per- 
suaded her  to  go  with  him  and  roam  over  the  world  in  quest 
of  adventures,  and  with  them  there  also  went  Camballo  and  his 
bride  Cambina.  Thus  only  Algarsif  was  left  at  Sarray  with  his 
father  King  Cambuscan,  whose  power  and  prosperity  still  con- 
tinued unbroken. 

"After  a  time  Algarsif  also  desired  to  see  the  world.  He 
begged  Cambuscan  to  let  him  go  for  a  long  ride  on  the  Brazen 
Horse,  and  by  dint  of  much  entreaty  he  won  his  father's  consent. 
He  mounted  the  horse,  turned  the  peg,  and  in  a  moment  the 
steed  had  borne  him  out  of  sight. 

"From  Tartary  he  turned  towards  Persia,  and  was  flying  high 
over  that  country,  when  suddenly  he  saw  far  below  him  in  a 
spacious  plain  two  armies  engaged  in  a  fierce  battle;  each  side 
seemed  to  win  or  be  defeated  alternately,  and  the  issue  was  doubt- 
ful. Algarsif  turned  his  course  downward  towards  the  plain 
to  view  the  fight  more  nearly. 

"As  he  descended  his  eye  fell  upon  a  richly-dight  pavilion 

*  Part  III.  is  taken  from  an  inferior  writer  of  the  eighteenth  century  named  Stirling. 
It  is  given  here  so  as  to  provide  some  sort  of  end  for  the  tale,  which  both  Chaucer  and 
Spenser  left  unfinished. 


i8o  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

not  far  from  the  field  of  battle.  Over  it  a  royal  standard  floated, 
and  in  the  shade  of  an  awning  just  outside  it  Algarsif  could  see 
slaves  hurrying  to  and  fro  in  attendance  upon  some  royal  per- 
sonage, to  whom  messengers  continually  brought  news  from  the 
battle. 

"Algarsif  turned  towards  the  tent  to  pay  his  duty  towards  this 
king,  if  king  it  were.  But  when  he  drew  near  he  saw,  not  a 
king,  but  the  most  beautiful  princess  he  had  ever  set  eyes  on. 
He  fell  in  love  with  her  at  the  mere  sight,  and  hastened  to  get 
off  his  horse  to  address  her.  He  fastened  the  steed  to  a  tree, 
and  went  up  to  the  awning,  and  fell  on  his  knees  before  the 
princess,  declaring  to  her  his  name  and  rank;  nor  did  he  stop 
there,  but  poured  out  his  love  in  a  torrent  of  passionate  words. 

"The  princess  wa*s  deeply  moved,  for  she,  too,  had  been  struck 
with  love  at  the  sight  of  the  handsome  young  prince.  Her  name 
was  Theodora,  and  she  was  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  Sultans 
engaged  in  the  battle  which  Algarsif  had  already  seen.  All 
this  she  told  him,  and  would  have  said  more,  but  suddenly  a 
messenger  arrived  from  the  fight  bringing  the  terrible  news  that 
the  Sultan,  her  father,  was  slain  by  the  enemy,  and  his  army  in 
full  retreat. 

"Theodora  was  almost  overcome  by  the  news,  and  implored 
Algarsif  to  save  her.  He  bade  her  farewell  hastily,  and  rushed 
off,  with  the  messenger  as  guide,  to  join  the  defeated  troops. 

"He  soon  found  them,  and  putting  himself  at  their  head,  led 
them  back  to  the  fray.  Himself  he  did  marvelous  feats  of  valor 
(for  he  had  with  him  the  Magic  Sword),  and  slew  the  opposing 
Sultan  with  his  own  hand;  but  it  was  all  in  vain:  the  enemy 
outnumbered  his  new  allies  by  four  to  one,  and  even  his  valor 
could  do  nothing  against  such  odds,  while  his  comrades  were 


THE  SQUIRE'S  TALE  181 

soon  being  driven  again  to  headlong  flight.  He  remembered 
that  he  had  still  the  Brazen  Horse,  and  he  retreated,  fighting 
still,  towards  the  tree  where  he  had  left  it. 

"Not  far  from  the  tree  was  Theodora's  pavilion;  he  ran  to 
her,  told  her  in  a  few  words  how  hopeless  was  the  battle,  and 
begged  her  to  fly  with  him.  In  a  moment  they  were  safe  on 
the  back  of  the  horse,  and  as  he  turned  the  peg  the  good  steed 
mounted  high  into  the  air  far  from  the  pursuit  of  the  enemy. 

"For  a  little  time  they  were  silent,  having  hardly  recovered 
from  their  sudden  flight.  The  Brazen  Horse  meanwhile  was 
bearing  them  east  with  incredible  swiftness  when  suddenly  a 
tremendous  shape,  black  and  threatening,  arose  in  the  air  before 
them. 

"  'Who  art  thou,  rash  mortal,  that  darest  invade  the  home  of 
trie  genies?'  cried  the  monster.  'Know  that  I  am  Eblis,  chief 
of  those  evil  spirits  whom  Suleiman  the  Great  imprisoned  in 
this  spot!  Go  hence,  or  be  slain  I' 

"Theodora  shrank  in  fear  from  the  sight  of  the  terrible  winged 
genie,  who  bore  in  his  hand  a  flaming  knotted  mace.  But  Al- 
garsif  faced  him  undauntingly,  and  attacked  him  at  once. 

"Long  and  fierce  was  the  combat,  but  the  magic  gifts  in  the 
end  prevailed.  The  Brazen  Horse  mounted  and  descended  so 
swiftly,  wheeled  so  quickly,  and  seemed  to  have  such  clear  fore- 
sight of  the  genie's  tremendous  blows,  that  the  blazing  mace 
struck  nothing  more  than  air  in  spite  of  all  the  efforts  of  Eblis; 
and  presently,  when  the  genie  seemed  to  be  growing  weary,  Al- 
garsif  put  all  his  strength  into  one  terrible  sweep  of  the  Magic 
Sword.  The  blade  flashed  in  the  air,  beat  down  the  mace,  and 
cut  deep  into  the  side  of  the  evil  spirit,  who  with  a  howl  of  rage 
and  pain  vanished  into  the  depths  below. 


182  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"The  lovers  hastened  to  leave  the  accursed  spot,  and  the  horse 
was  soon  bearing  them  still  further  east,  over  Thibet  and  Kash- 
gar.  At  length  they  drew  near  a  high  mountain  with  pleasant 
trees  growing  on  its  sides  and  a  stream  flowing  from  a  waterfall 
at  the  foot. 

"  'Let  us  alight  here  and  rest,  dear  princess,'  said  Algarsif. 
*I  am  weary  from  my  fighting,  and  would  sleep.  To-morrow 
we  will  cease  our  wandering,  and  go  back  to  my  father  in  Sar- 
ray.' 

"Theodora  agreed,  and  they  got  off  the  horse  and  went  to  a 
little  grove  some  distance  up  the  mountain-side.  Here  they  lay 
down  to  sleep,  all  ignorant  of  the  terrible  place  to  which  they 
had  come,  for  they  were  on  the  Dismal  Mountain,  in  the 
power  of  the  wicked  enchanter  Demshack,  by  whose  arts  the 
trees  and  woods  and  flowers  seemed  to  travelers  at  first  very 
lovely  and  inviting,  but  in  a  little  while  became  withered  and 
poisonous. 

"Algarsif  and  Theodora  were  soon  asleep,  for  their  weari- 
ness was  great.  But  their  slumbers  were  short,  and  broken  by 
terrible  visions  of  awful  shapes  and  strange  deaths,  and  each 
dreamed  that  the  other  was  dead.  They  awoke  shivering  with 
fear,  and  looked  round.  Instead  of  the  pleasant  green  shady 
trees  and  soft  grass,  they  saw  gnarled  withered  trunks  and  bare 
branches,  which  rattled  and  creaked  in  a  moaning  wind.  The 
ground  was  hard  and  stony,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  the 
little  stream  had  become  a  dark  eddying  river,  from  whose 
waters  rose  a  poisonous  mist. 

"They  ran  up  and  down  seeking  some  way  to  escape  from  the 
mountain,  for  the  Brazen  Horse  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and 
in  this  enchanted  place  Algarsif  had  forgotten  the  magic  word 


THE  SQUIRE'S  TALE  183 

which  would  recall  it.  But  the  gloomy  river  ran  round  the 
foot  of  it  on  all  sides.  They  turned  in  despair,  and  hastened  up 
towards  the  summit  in  the  hope  that  there  they  might  find  some 
relief  from  the  numbness  that  was  now  creeping  over  them.  As 
they  ran  they  grew  weaker  and  weaker;  their  steps  tottered  and 
became  languid,  and  all  strength  left  their  limbs.  Last  of  all, 
the  bloom  of  their  cheeks  and  the  light  of  their  eyes  faded,  their 
lips  and  tongues  turned  black  and  shriveled,  and  they  fell  down 
unconscious,  forgetful  of  one  another  and  of  all  else. 

"Meanwhile  Cambuscan  heard  nothing  of  either  of  his  sons 
and  daughter,  and  knowing  the  powers  of  Camballo  and  Al- 
garsif,  he  did  not  dream  of  any  evil  befalling  them.  He  was 
happy  with  his  queen  Elpheta,  and  spent  his  days  in  the  gov- 
ernment of  his  people,  secure  in  prosperity,  and  not  looking  for 
ill  fortune. 

"But  one  day  the  great  seer  Chosroes  came  to  him  and  bade 
him  give  up  his  kingdom. 

"  'Sire,'  he  said,  'great  misfortunes  await  you.  Leave  your 
realm,  and  go  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Mecca.' 

"Cambuscan  was  amazed  at  the  words  of  the  seer,  and  at  first 
would  pay  no  heed  to  him.  But  Elpheta  heard  what  was  said, 
and  went  to  look  at  the  Magic  Mirror.  Then  she  brought  the 
Mirror  to  Cambuscan. 

"  'See,  my  lord,7  she  said,  'the  seer  speaks  truth.  Look  in  the 
Mirror  and  know  your  fate.' 

"Cambuscan  looked,  and  saw  himself  reflected  in  the  Mirrar 
surrounded  on  all  sides  by  a  great  host  of  enemies,  who  were 
pressing  him  hard.  Then  he  believed  Chosroes,  and  did  as  he 
was  bidden.  He  gave  over  the  cares  of  state  to  his  chief  officers, 
and  joined  a  caravan  of  pilgrims  who  were  on  their  way  to 


184  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

Mecca.  He  believed  that  by  going  he  would  avert  the  danger 
of  Heaven  from  his  kingdom,  and  so  he  robed  himself  humbly 
for  the  pilgrimage,  and  set  out  with  Elpheta  and  the  rest  of  the 
pilgrims  across  the  desert.  The  Magic  Mirror  he  left  in  the 
charge  of  Chosroes. 

"The  caravan  traveled  slowly  and  laboriously  for  many  days 
across  the  barren  sands.  Suddenly,  when  they  were  in  the  midst 
of  the  desert,  they  saw  far  off  a  cloud  of  dust  on  the  horizon, 
and  as  the  cloud  drew  nearer  they  perceived  that  it  was  a  band 
of  fierce  Arab  robbers  who.  were  swooping  down  to  attack  them. 
Hastily  they  prepared  to  defend  themselves,  and  had  only  just 
time  to  make  ready  when  the  Arabs  were  upon  them.  They 
resisted  bravely,  and  there  I  will  leave  them  fighting  while  I 
tell  you  how  it  came  about  that  they  were  rescued  in  the  end. 

"Camballo  and  Triamond  with  their  princesses  were  at  this 
time  not  far  from  the  very  spot  where  Cambuscan  and  the  pil- 
grims were  being  attacked.  They  had  had  many  adventures 
in  their  wanderings,  and  were  now  on  their  way  home  to  Sarray, 
after  having  restored  Canacee's  falcon  to  her  false  love;  for 
Canacee  had  begged  them  to  try  to  find  the  faithless  tercelet  be- 
fore turning  homewards,  and  they  had  succeeded,  as  you  shall 
now  hear. 

"They  could  not  at  first  discover  where  the  tercelet  was  likely 
to  be  found,  although  Canacee,  by  the  aid  of  the  Magic  Ring, 
asked  all  the  birds  they  met  if  they  had  seen  him.  But  at  length, 
when  they  were  about  to  give  up  the  search,  Camballo  bethought 
him  that  perhaps  the  Ring  might  have  other  powers  which  they 
did  not  yet  know;  he  wondered  who  had  given  it  its  magic  vir- 
tues, and  what  spirits  it  obeyed.  He  took  it  in  his  hand,  and 
solemnly  called  on  the  spirit  of  the  Ring  to  appear. 


THE  SQUIRE'S  TALE  185 

"Even  as  he  finished  speaking  a  huge  genie  stood  before  them. 

"  'I  know  your  wish/  said  the  spirit,  'and  can  tell  you  where 
the  tercelet  may  be  found.  He  has  flown  to  the  Paradise  of 
Shedad,  which  Shedad  built  by  magic  so  that  no  mortal  can 
enter  save  the  wearer  of  that  Ring.  Put  on  the  Ring,  and  I  will 
lead  you  thither.' 

"Camballo  put  the  Ring  on  his  finger,  and  the  genie  took  him 
by  the  arm.  In  a  moment  he  found  himself  on  the  outside  of 
Shedad's  Paradise.  Before  him  he  saw  the  enchanted  palace 
of  Shedad  himself,  built  of  silver  and  gold  and  precious  stones, 
which  blazed  like  the  sun  and  all  the  stars.  Round  about  were 
enchanted  gardens,  where  it  was  always  summer  and  the  flowers 
always  blossomed ;  grassy  walks  ran  among  the  trees,  and  little 
streams  rippled  past  flowery  banks  with  a  noise  like  that  of 
tinkling  silver  bells. 

"Camballo  entered  the  lovely  garden,  and  soon  found  the 
tercelet  sitting  on  a  tree,  all  alone  and  very  sad,  for  he  was  be- 
ginning to  long  for  his  old  love  again.  Camballo  told  his  er- 
rand, saying  how  piteous  was  the  falcon's  state,  how  cruel  it 
would  be  to  let  her  pine  away,  how  well  she  loved  him,  and 
how  readily  she  would  forgive  his  faithlessness.  In  the  end  the 
tercelet  begged  Camballo  to  take  him  back  to  the  falcon.  The 
genie  of  the  Ring  was  bidden  to  carry  them  both  to  the  place 
where  the  others  had  been  left,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  tercelet 
and  the  falcon  were  lovingly  making  up  the  quarrel. 

"Thus  by  the  aid  of  the  Magic  Ring  the  falcon's  love  was 
restored  to  her,  and  the  two  flew  away,  to  live  happily  together 
for  the  rest  of  their  lives. 

"The  two  knights  and  their  ladies  now  set  out  for  Tartary, 
and  their  way  lay,  as  I  have  said,  right  across  the  desert  where 


186  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

the  Arabs  were  attacking  the  caravan  of  pilgrims.  They  soon 
reached  the  scene  of  the  fight,  and  seeing  that  Cambuscan  and 
his  friends  were  hard  pressed,  Camballo  and  Triamond  rushed 
into  the  fray,  and  turned  their  swords  against  the  robbers.  The 
combat  was  now  more  even,  but  the  Arabs  outnumbered  the 
pilgrims,  and  would  have  proved  victorious  but  for  the  sudden 
arrival  of  yet  another  knight. 

"This  was  no  other  than  Algarsif  on  the  Brazen  Horse.  His 
help  changed  the  day,  and  the  Magic  Sword  soon  put  the  rob- 
bers to  flight.  Then  for  a  day  or  more  the  pilgrims  and  the 
knights  rested,  no  longer  fearing  an  attack,  and  thankful  for 
their  safety.  The  next  day  Chosroes  also  arrived  with  Theo- 
dora, and,  in  answer  to  the  questions  of  Cambuscan,  told  how 
it  was  that  they  and  Algarsif  were  there,  for  Algarsif  so  far  had 
refrained  from  telling  his  story. 

"  When  you  left  the  Magic  Mirror  with  me,  sire,'  began 
Chosroes,  'I  looked  into  it  and  saw  the  terrible  danger  in  which 
Algarsif  and  Theodora  were  placed.  They  lay  on  the  Dismal 
Mountain  enchanted  by  the  wicked  magician  Demshack,  and 
I  knew  not  how  to  reach  them.  Nevertheless  I  trusted  in 
Heaven,  and  set  out  to  wander  over  the  earth  in  the  hope  of 
finding  some  means  to  save  them ;  and  my  hopes  were  fulfilled. 
I  came  one  day  to  a  lovely  grove,  where  I  lay  down  and  was 
resting,  when  suddenly  I  saw  before  me  a  maiden  of  the  most 
surpassing  beauty. 

"  '  "I  am  Alzobah,  the  fairy  of  this  grove,"  she  said,  "and  I 
know  the  object  of  your  wanderings,  and  will  aid  you.  Take 
this  apple,  and  go  to  the  Dismal  Mountain,  at  the  top  of  which 
you  will  find  a  talisman  to  break  the  enchantment.  I  can  tell 
you  no  more.  The  mountain  you  will  find  easily  while  you  have 


THE  SQUIRE'S  TALE  187 

the  apple,  which  also  will  help  you  when  you  least  expect  it." 
"  With  that  she  vanished,  leaving  the  apple  in  my  hand.  I 
rose,  and  began  my  wanderings  afresh.  In  a  little  time  I  found 
myself  at  the  foot  of  the  Dismal  Mountain,  which  I  had  seen 
reflected  in  the  Mirror.  But  it  was  in  vain  I  tried  to  climb  its 
sides;  they  had  become  as  smooth  as  glass,  and  after  many  at- 
tempts and  failures  I  flew  into  a  passion,  throwing  away  the 
apple  in  my  anger.  But  it  was  my  rage  which  helped  me,  for 
the  apple,  flying  from  my  hand,  was  broken  to  pieces  on  the  hard 
ground,  and  out  of  it  there  fell  the  most  perfect  silken  ladder, 
which,  when  I  cast  it  up  the  mountain-side,  held  fast,  and  thus 
I  speedily  reached  the  top,  and  seized  the  talisman  which  I 
found  there.  The  mountain  trembled  and  rocked,  and  a  rum- 
bling noise  was  heard ;  then  the  trees  and  shrubs  bloomed  again, 
the  glassy  sides  became  good  firm  earth,  the  murky  river  van- 
ished, and  I  saw  Algarsif  and  the  Princess  Theodora  coming 
towards  me  with  the  Brazen  Horse.  When  we  had  heard  each 
other's  adventures  I  looked  again  in  the  Mirror,  which  I  had 
still  with  me,  and  saw  that  the  king  Cambuscan  was  surrounded 
by  the  Arabs  in  the  desert.  We  agreed  that  Algarsif  should 
go  to  his  aid  at  once  with  the  Horse  and  Sword,  while  Theodora 
and  I  followed  as  quickly  as  we  could;  and  thus  it  came  about 
that  the  pilgrims  were  saved. 

"  'And  now,  sire,'  added  the  seer,  'you  can  return  to  your  king- 
dom. The  will  of  Heaven  is  once  more  favorable  to  you.  Re- 
turn, therefore,  and  drive  out  the  enemies  who  are  now  on  your 
borders.' 

"The  whole  party  now  turned  back  to  Sarray,  where  they 
arrived  without  further  adventure.  They  found  the  kingdom 
being  attacked  by  enemies  on  all  sides,  as  Chosroes  had  said, 


i88  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

but  the  valor  of  the  knights  and  the  power  of  the  magic  gifts 
soon  put  them  all  to  flight,  and  Cambuscan  once  more  reigned 
with  Elpheta  in  peace  and  prosperity  to  their  lives'  end.  When 
he  died  the  kingdom  was  divided  between  Camballo,  Algarsif, 
and  Triamond,  who  lived  long  and  happily  with  the  ladies  they 
had  won  in  such  strange  fashion.'' 


EPICURUS'  OWN  SON 

FAITH,  Squire,  you  have  quit  yourself  well,"  said  the  Frank- 
lin at  the  end  of  the  tale  of  Cambuscan. 

The  Franklin  was  one  of  those  who  held  their  land  free 
without  any  rent  or  dues,  and  were  no  man's  tenant  or  servant 
but  the  King's.  He  was  very  well-to-do  and  prosperous,  and 
kept  open  house  in  his  own  county,  where  he  had  been  both 
sheriff  and  knight  of  the  shire.  He  loved  comfort  and  fine 
living,  and  his  house  overflowed  with  meat  and  drink  and  every 
good  thing  that  could  be  imagined.  He  changed  his  dainties 
according  to  the  seasons  of  the  year,  and  to  that  end  had  many 
a  fat  partridge  cooked  up  for  eating,  while  his  fish-ponds  were 
always  full  of  bream  and  pike.  Woe  be  to  the  cook  if  the  sauces 
were  not  piquant  and  sharp,  or  the  meal  not  properly  spread  at 
the  right  time  I  He  had  a  great  fixed  table  standing  always  in 
his  hall — a  sign  of  great  wealth  in  those  days,  when  all  but 
the  very  rich  were  content  with  a  board  put  on  trestles  and  taken 
away  again  after  use. 

He  was  a  rosy-faced  man,  with  a  beard  as  white  as  a  daisy, 
and  he  wore  at  his  girdle  a  dagger  and  a  pouch  of  milk-white 
silk. 


EPICURUS'  OWN  SON  189 

"You  are  a  young  man,  Squire,"  he  went  on,  for  he  was  not 
a  very  clever  or  well-educated  man  in  spite  of  his  wealth,  "and 
you  have  spoken  very  well,  I  must  say.  If  you  live  you  will 
one  day  far  surpass  all  of  us  here  in  eloquence,  in  my  opinion. 
I  like  your  words  vastly  well.  I  have  a  son  myself  about  your 
age,  and  I  would  give  twenty  pounds'  worth  of  land — yes, 
twenty  pounds'  worth — to  see  him  a  young  man  like  you. 
Wealth  and  ease  are  no  great  things  unless  they  have  goodness 
to  back  them.  I  am  always  having  to  rebuke  him  for  his  idle 
ways ;  he  does  nothing  but  play  with  the  dice  and  spend  money, 
and  he  would  rather  talk  to  our  page-boys  than  to  a  man  of  good 
birth  from  whom  he  might  learn  something  of  gentle  manners." 

"A  fig  for  your  'gentle  manners,'  Franklin,"  cried  the  Host, 
with  a  rough  laugh.  "Remember  that  you  have  all  got  to  tell 
tales,  and  do  not  waste  time." 

"I  know,  good  sir,"  answered  the  other.  "Do  not  laugh  at 
me  for  saying  a  word  or  two  to  the  Squire." 

"Tell  a  tale,  and  do  not  talk,"  ordered  the  Host. 

"Of  course  I  will  gladly  obey  you,"  the  Franklin  replied. 
"I  will  do  as  you  ask,  so  far  as  my  poor  wits  allow  me,  and  I 
hope  that  I  shall  please  you.  The  tale  I  will  tell  is  one  of  those 
which  the  ancient  folk  who  dwelt  in  Brittany  used  to  sing  to 
their  musical  instruments.  But  remember  that  I  am  only  a  rude 
and  unlettered  man,  sirs,  and  excuse  my  rough  and  ready  words. 
I  never  was  taught  to  speak  well,  and  I  know  nothing  about 
Cicero  or  the  'colors  of  rhetoric'  which  scholars  talk  of.  The 
only  colors  I  know  are  those  which  I  see  in  the  fields,  and  those 
with  which  men  dye  or  paint.  But  now  for  my  tale." 


THE  FRANKLIN'S  TALE 
THE  ROCKS  REMOVED 

THERE  once  dwelt  near  Penmarch  Point,  in  Armorica,  the 
ancient  Brittany,  a  knight  named  Arviragus,  who  loved 
a  lady  of  that  country,  and  did  his  best  to  serve  her  and 
show  her  honor.     Many  a  toil  did  he  undertake  and  many  a 
perilous  enterprise  did  he  carry  out  in  the  hope  of  winning  the 
favor  of  Dorigen   (for  that  was  her  name) ;  but  she  was  the 
fairest  lady  under  the  sun,  and  of  high  birth,  so  that  the  knight 
hardly  dared  to  tell  her  of  his  love;  and  when  he  did  so  she 
would  not  at  first  give  him  any  hope  of  success  in  his  suit. 

"Nevertheless  he  was  not  discouraged,  and  at  length,  because 
of  his  knightly  conduct  and  his  constancy,  Dorigen  at  last  con- 
sented to  take  him  for  her  husband;  and  he,  in  order  to  make 
their  lives  still  happier,  of  his  own  free  will  swore  on  his  honor 
as  a  knight  that  he  would  never  force  her  to  do  anything  against 
her  wish,  but  would  obey  her  in  all  things  as  a  lover  should, 
except  that  for  the  sake  of  his  knighthood's  honor  he  must  keep 
the  name  of  being  her  lord  and  master,  according  to  custom. 

"  'Sir,'  answered  Dorigen,  when  he  made  this  promise,  'since 
of  your  gentleness  you  offer  me  such  freedom,  I  pray  to  God  that 
nothing  may  ever  come  between  us  through  my  fault,  and  I  vow 
to  be  your  humble  and  true  wife  to  my  life's  end.' 

"Thus  they  plighted  their  troth  and  were  married,  and  lived 

for  a  time  happily  and  in  peace;  for  Arviragus  had  no  desire 

190 


THE  FRANKLIN'S  TALE  191 

to  constrain  his  wife's  love  to  obedience,  since  patience  and  en- 
durance profit  a  man  more  than  all  else;  and  so  these  two  kept 
their  word  to  one  another  honorably,  and  dwelt  in  all  joy  to- 
gether in  the  knight's  castle. 

"But  when  they  had  been  married  a  year  or  more  it  fell  to  the 
lot  of  Arviragus  to  go  to  England  for  a  year  or  two  to  seek  honor 
in  arms,  and  he  left  Dorigen,  and  was  away  from  her  two  years. 
She  loved  her  husband  as  her  own  life,  and  at  first  wept  and 
mourned  sorely  when  he  was  gone.  But  ever  and  again  she 
received  tidings  and  letters  from  him,  and  her  friends  also  came 
to  her  and  begged  her  to  join  them  in  their  mirth  and  play,  so 
that  at  last  she  began  to  be  comforted,  and  to  go  with  them  in 
their  walks,  and  take  part  in  their  pleasures  once  more. 

"But  the  castle  of  Arviragus  lay  near  the  sea-coast,  and  very 
often  the  company  of  ladies  would  wander  along  the  high  cliffs 
by  the  shore;  and  in  spite  of  all  her  brave  endeavors  to  be  merry 
and  cheerful  as  her  friends  were,  Dorigen  could  not  but  sigh  for 
her  dear  husband  when  she  saw  the  vessels  sailing  far  out  at  sea. 

"  'Is  there  no  ship  among  all  those  that  I  see  which  is  bringing 
my  lord  home  to  me?'  she  would  think.  'Ah,  if  there  were  my 
grief  would  speedily  be  gone!' 

"Or  perhaps  she  would  stand  on  the  edge  of  a  cliff,  and  look 
down  on  the  grim,  black  rocks  far  below  till  her  heart  quaked 
with  fear,  and  she  could  no  longer  stand  upright  on  her  feet, 
but  sank  on  to  the  grass,  crying  piteously,  'Alas !  what  cruel  rocks ! 
Does  not  God,  who  made  the  wind  to  blow,  know  what  harm 
they  do  to  mankind,  and  how  they  wreck  ships  and  destroy  the 
crews  utterly?  Can  my  Arviragus  escape  them?  The  sight  of 
them  strikes  dread  into  my  very  heart;  would  to  Heaven  that 
they  were  all  sunk  into  the  depths  beneath!' 


192  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"Her  companions  soon  saw  that  she  was  distressed  whenever 
they  walked  by  the  sea,  and  thenceforth  they  went  with  her  only 
in  the  gardens  of  their  castles,  and  by  rivers  and  fountains,  and 
in  like  places  of  many  delights,  where  they  could  pass  the  time 
in  playing  chess  and  backgammon  and  other  games. 

"One  morning  they  were  all  in  a  fair  garden,  gay  with  green 
trees  and  fresh  flowers,  for  it  was  the  sixth  of  May.  The  garden 
was  laid  out  like  Paradise  itself,  so  that  the  ladies  and  the  young 
knights  and  squires  with  them  took  great  joy  in  its  beauty,  and 
after  dinner  fell  to  singing  and  dancing,  all  for  lightness  of 
heart.  Dorigen  alone  held  aloof  from  their  mirth,  for  her 
husband  was  not  among  the  dancers. 

"Among  the  young  knights  who  were  dancing  was  a  certain 
squire  named  Aurelius,  who  could  sing  and  dance  better  than 
any  man  since  the  world  began.  He  was  young  and  strong  and 
honorable,  rich,  wise,  and  held  in  great  honor;  and,  to  cut  my 
story  short,  he  had  long  loved  Dorigen,  even  from  the  time  be- 
fore she  was  wedded  to  Arviragus.  He  had  ever  kept  his  love 
hidden,  like  an  honorable  knight,  and  all  the  more  since  she 
was  married ;  but  now,  since  he  could  no  longer  hope  to  win  her, 
his  life  had  become  wearisome  to  him,  and  he  was  overcome 
with  despair;  only  in  the  songs  he  made  and  sang  could  he  show 
his  sorrow,  and  in  all  else  he  had  to  hide  and  keep  down  his 
love,  which  did  but  grow  stronger  the  more  hopeless  it  became. 

"But  to-day,  in  that  fair  garden,  as  he  looked  on  its  delights 
and  the  happiness  of  his  friends,  his  passion  mastered  him,  and 
he  resolved  to  speak  to  Dorigen.  Perhaps  it  was  because  he 
looked  at  her  so  beseechingly,  like  a  man  who  asks  for  grace, 
that  she  was  moved  to  a  certain  compassion  of  him;  at  any  rate, 
though  Dorigen  knew  nothing  of  his  intent,  they  fell  in  talk 


THE  FRANKLIN'S  TALE  193 

together  that  evening,  for  he  was  her  neighbor,  and  a  man  of 
worship  and  honor,  and  they  had  long  been  friends. 

"  'Madam,'  said  the  poor  squire,  'would  to  Heaven  that  when 
Arviragus  went  over  the  sea  I  too  had  gone  and  never  come 
back;  for  I  love  you,  knowing  that  my  love  is  in  vain,  and  that 
all  I  could  do  to  serve  you  would  be  but  for  the  breaking  of 
my  own  heart.  Have  pity  on  me,  dear  lady,  for  with  a  word  you 
can  slay  or  save  me!' 

"Dorigen  looked  on  him  with  deep  pity,  and  strove  to  show 
him  how  hopeless  and  impossible  it  was  that  she  should  be  un- 
true to  Arviragus  and  give  herself  to  him. 

"  'I  knew  not  that  your  mind  lay  thus,'  she  said;  'but  now  that 
I  know  I  can  but  tell  you  the  truth.  I  can  never  be  untrue  to 
my  dear  lord  in  word  or  deed;  I  am  his  now  and  always,  and 
that  will  ever  be  my  answer  to  you.  Lay  aside  this  folly;  I 
could  as  soon  give  you  my  love,  Aurelius,'  she  went  on,  hoping 
to  turn  his  thoughts  with  a  jest,  'as  that  those  grim  rocks  which 
are  all  along  the  coast  could  be  removed,  every  one,  stone  by 
stone,  till  not  one  is  to  be  seen.  Cause  that  to  be  done,  and  I 
will  he  yours.' 

"Thus  she  spoke,  knowing  that  what  she  said  was  impossible, 
and  saying  it  only  in  jest.  But  Aurelius,  thinking  that  she  meant 
it  in  all  seriousness,  was  only  filled  with  blacker  despair,  and 
went  away  from  her  sorrowfully,  leaving  her  with  her  friends 
to  revel  out  the  day  until  the  horizon  stole  away  the  sun's  light. 

"When  Aurelius  reached  his  home  he  was  half  mad  with  dis- 
tress. He  fell  on  his  knees,  and  began  to  pray  to  the  ancient 
gods,  to  Apollo,  the  god  of  the  sun,  and  his  sister  Diana,  queen 
of  the  night,  begging  them  to  bring  a  great  flood  which  would 
rise  high  above  the  tallest  rocks  round  Brittany,  and  hide  them 


194  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

so  long  that  Dorigen  would  believe  them  to  be  removed.  But 
his  prayers  were  vain,  and  his  frenzy  grew  so  violent  that  he 
fell  down  in  a  swoon,  which  lasted  till  his  brother  found  him  and 
nursed  him  back  into  health  again;  and  then  for  two  years  or 
more  he  dwelt  quietly  at  home,  with  grief  raging  at  his  heart. 

"Meanwhile  Arviragus  came  home  again,  and  Dorigen  was 
right  glad  to  see  him;  and  now  that  they  were  once  more  to- 
gether, all  their  days  were  full  of  mirth  and  rejoicing. 

"But  poor  Aurelius  pined  and  languished  in  despair,  and  his 
brother,  who  was  a  great  student,  began  to  have  fears  for  his 
life;  he  knew  all  Aurelius's  sorrow,  but  could  find  no  remedy 
for  it.  At  last  he  bethought  him  that  once,  when  he  was  study- 
ing at  Orleans,  his  fellow-student  had  by  chance  left  upon  his 
desk  a  great  book  of  magic  and  spells ;  for  the  young  students 
loved  to  pore  over  strange  subjects  and  curious  knowledge  which 
they  had  no  business  to  learn.  He  remembered  also  tales  of 
what  had  been  wrought  by  necromancy;  how  magicians  could 
make  a  lake  and  barges  rowing  upon  it  appear  in  a  banquet- 
hall,  or  a  grim  lion  come  roaring  in,  or  flowers  spring  into  life 
and  blossom  as  in  a  meadow,  or  a  vine  grow  with  red  and  white 
grapes,  or  could  build  a  lordly  castle  of  marble  and  stone,  and 
destroy  it  again  in  a  moment. 

"  'If  I  could  find  one  of  these  magicians  at  Orleans,'  he 
thought  to  himself,  'perhaps  he  would  help  my  brother;  and 
thus,  perchance,  he  might  bring  it  about  that  all  the  rocks  round 
Brittany  should  vanish,  and  ships  sail  over  the  place  where 
they  stood;  and  then  my  brother  could  claim  the  Lady  Dorigen 
according  to  her  word.' 

"Why  should  I  make  a  long  story  of  it?  He  told  Aurelius 
about  the  book  of  magic  he  had  seen,  and  they  started  together 


THE  FRANKLIN'S  TALE  195 

for  Orleans,  full  of  hope,  for  Aurelius  was  still  bent  on  doing 
as  Dorigen  had  jestingly  bidden  him. 

"When  they  drew  near  their  journey's  end,  and  were  only 
two  or  three  furlongs  from  the  city,  they  met  a  young  student 
roaming  by  himself,  who  greeted  them  courteously  in  Latin, 
and  then  said  a  strange  thing — (I  know  the  cause  of  your  coming 
hither.' 

"Aurelius  and  his  brother  were  astonished  at  these  words,  and 
still  more  when  the  stranger  went  on  to  tell  them  who  they  were 
and  what  they  had  in  their  minds.  Neither  of  them  had  ever 
seen  him  before,  and  they  knew  in  a  moment  that  he  must  be  a 
magician,  and  that  their  journey  would  not  be  in  vain.  They 
returned  his  greeting  gladly,  and  followed  him  to  his  house, 
for  he  was  in  truth  a  student  of  magic  and  a  great  wizard. 
There  they  were  entertained  well  with  every  kind  of  food  and 
dainty,  and  the  magician  showed  them  the  wonders  of  his  art. 

"He  made  forests,  and  parks  full  of  wild  deer  appear  before 
them,  and  harts  with  the  largest  horns  that  ever  were  seen ;  and 
there  came  huntsmen  with  hounds  and  slew  a  hundred  or  more 
of  the  deer  in  the  chase.  Then  the  scene  vanished,  and  they 
saw  instead  men  hawking  and  hunting  herons  by  a  river;  and 
next  they  were  shown  knights  jousting  in  a  plain,  and  then  a 
dance  in  which  the  magician  himself  seemed  to  be  taking  part. 
But  in  the  midst  of  it  he  clapped  his  hands,  and  lol  the  revel 
vanished  suddenly,  and  they  were  alone  again  in  the  wizard's 
study,  where  they  had  been  sitting  all  the  time  without  ever 
having  to  move  to  see  these  wonderful  sights. 

"Then  they  sat  down  to  supper  and  feasted  again,  and  after 
that  Aurelius  began  to  treat  with  the  magician  about  the  price 
to  be  paid  for  the  removal  of  all  the  rocks  round  the  coast  of 


196  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

Brittany,  from  the  Gironde  to  the  Seine.  The  wizard  vowed 
that  he  must  have  a  thousand  pounds  for  the  task,  and  Aurelius 
in  his  eagerness  made  light  of  the  sum. 

"  What  is  a  thousand  pounds?'  he  cried.  'If  I  had  the  whole 
wide  world,  I  would  give  it  you.  It  is  a  bargain,  and  you  shall 
surely  be  paid!  We  will  set  out  to-morrow.' 

"So  they  agreed  about  it,  and  went  to  bed.  Aurelius  slept 
soundly  that  night,  for  now  he  thought  that  his  woe  was  likely 
to  be  ended  at  last. 

"The  next  day  all  three  went  straight  back  to  Brittany.  It 
was  the  cold,  frosty  season  of  December,  when  all  the  green 
land  is  destroyed  by  sleet  and  rain;  and  the  rocks  looked  grimmer 
than  ever  that  bitter  Christmastide.  Aurelius  hurried  the  wiz- 
ard with  prayers  and  threats  to  carry  out  his  promise;  and 
he  set  to  work  with  all  haste,  toiling  night  and  day  at  his  spells 
and  incantations  and  magic  tables  and  calculations  of  the  sun 
and  stars,  until  he  hit  upon  the  right  moment  to  work  his  charms ; 
and  then  at  length  he  accomplished  his  task,  and  all  the  rocks 
round  Brittany  seemed  to  have  vanished. 

"Aurelius  had  been  doubtful  and  impatient  while  the  spell 
was  yet  working,  but  now,  when  he  saw  the  rocks  really  gone, 
he  went  straight  to  Dorigen,  and  fell  at  her  feet,  saluting  her 
humbly  and  courteously. 

"  'Dear  lady,'  he  said,  'whom  I  love  and  honor  above  all  the 
world,  have  pity  on  me  ere  I  perish  for  love,  and  remember  your 
word  that  you  gave  me.  Not  that  I  ask  anything  of  you  as  by 
right,  for  you  are  my  sovereign  lady,  and  your  will  is  mine;  but 
in  a  garden  here  you  made  me  a  certain  promise.  I  have  car- 
ried out  your  commands.  Do  as  you  will,  but  remember  your 
wordf  for  lo!  all  the  rocks  are  removed.' 


THE  FRANKLIN'S  TALE  197 

"With  that  he  went  away,  leaving  Dorigen  amazed;  all  the 
bright  color  fled  from  her  face  when  she  saw  that  the  rocks 
were  indeed  removed,  and  knew  into  what  a  trap  she  had  so 
innocently  fallen.  'Alas!  that  this  should  ever  have  come  to 
pass!'  she  cried.  'I  never  dreamed  that  such  a  wonder  could 
happen.' 

"She  went  home,  almost  unable  to  walk  through  fear;  but 
Arviragus  was  away,  and  would  not  return  for  some  days,  and 
she  had  to  wait  and  bear  her  grief  in  silence,  for  she  dared  not 
tell  it  to  any  but  her  husband;  and  thus  for  a  day  or  two  she 
mourned  by  herself,  thinking  of  all  the  famous  ladies  who  had 
been  given  up  against  their  will  to  those  they  did  not  love.  At 
last,  however,  Arviragus  returned,  and  as  soon  as  he  saw  her 
asked  her  why  she  wept  so  sorely. 

"Dorigen  did  but  weep  more  bitterly.  'Alas!  that  I  was  ever 
born!'  she  said.  'Thus  and  thus  have  I  said  and  promised/ 
And  she  told  him  all  about  her  rash  words,  and  how  Aurelius 
had  caused  the  rocks  to  be  removed,  so  that  she  must  go  to 
the  garden  and  give  herself  over  to  him. 

"Her  husband  heard  her  gently  and  patiently,  and  at  the  end 
asked,  'Is  there  aught  else  but  this,  Dorigen?' 

"'No,'  she  answered;  'Heaven  knows  it  is  too  much.' 

"  'Let  us  not  raise  up  for  ourselves  any  further  evil,'  Arviragus 
said.  'You  must  keep  your  word;  I  would  rather  die  than  that 
you  should  be  held  in  dishonor  for  breaking  your  promise,  such 
is  the  love  I  bear  to  you.  Truth  is  the  highest  thing  that  man 
can  keep.' 

"But  with  that  word  he  burst  into  tears  at  the  thought  of  what 
a  loss  this  cleaving  to  truth  and  honor  would  bring  them.  'I 
forbid  you,  on  pain  of  death,'  he  said,  'to  tell  anyone  else  of  this 


198  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

matter.  Let  me  endure  my  woe  as  well  as  I  can  without  any 
open  show  of  grief,  or  any  sign  which  may  bring  your  name  into 
ill  repute.' 

"Then  he  called  a  squire  and  a  maiden.  'Go  forth  with 
Dorigen,'  he  bade  them,  'and  take  her  to  such-and-such  a  place.' 
But  he  said  no  word  of  why  she  was  going;  and  thus  he  kept  his 
promise  to  her,  that  he  would  never  act  against  her  will,  and 
refused  to  make  her  break  her  word. 

"Do  you  think  him  hard  and  cruel  to  put  his  wife  in  such 
peril?"  asked  the  Franklin  of  the  pilgrims,  breaking  off  for  a 
moment.  "Remember  that  it  would  be  dishonorable  for  her  to 
break  her  word,  however  lightly  given,  and  that  he,  too,  was 
but  keeping  strictly  to  his  own  word  in  letting  her  go.  More- 
over, hear  the  end  of  the  tale;  she  may  fare  better  than  you 
expect.  When  you  have  heard  all  the  story,  think  what  you 
will. 

"The  squire  Aurelius  happened  by  chance  to  meet  Dorigen  as 
she  was  bound  for  the  garden  where  she  had  given  him  her  word, 
in  order  to  give  herself  up  to  him.  He  greeted  her  gladly,  and 
asked  her  whither  she  went. 

"  'To  the  garden,  to  keep  my  troth,  as  my  husband  has  bidden 
me.  Woe  is  me!'  she  answered,  weeping  and  distracted  with 
grief. 

"Aurelius  felt  great  pity  in  his  heart  for  the  distress  which  he 
now  saw  that  he  had  brought  about,  and  he  honored  her  and 
the  worthy  knight  Arviragus  for  their  constancy  and  truth;  and 
as  he  went  by  her  side  to  the  garden  he  began  to  think  that  he, 
too,  would  do  well  to  be  generous  and  give  up  his  desire,  rather 


THE  FRANKLIN'S  TALE  199 

than  keep  Dorigen  to  her  troth,  and  so  wrong  his  knightly  gentle- 
ness and  honor. 

"  'Madam/  he  said  when  they  were  come  into  the  garden, 
'hear  how  I  will  carry  out  my  share  of  our  bond.  Go  to  your 
lord  Arviragus,  and  say  to  him  that  I  see  his  great  nobleness  of 
heart  and  your  distress,  and  how  he  would  rather  have  the  shame 
and  sorrow  of  sending  you  away  than  that  you  should  break 
your  word;  and  therefore  I  would  liefer  suffer  woe  all  my  life 
than  destroy  the  love  that  is  between  you  two,  and  I  here  free 
you  wholly  of  our  agreement,  and  take  my  leave  of  you,  for  you 
are  the  best  and  truest  lady  that  ever  I  knew.  Only  let  all 
wives  beware  how  they  give  their  word,  seeing  to  what  a  pass 
you  came.  Say  thus  to  Arviragus;  for  surely  I  who  am  but  a 
squire  can  do  a  gentle  deed  as  well  as  any  knight.' 

"Dorigen  fell  on  her  knees  and  thanked  him;  and  then  she 
went  back  to  Arviragus,  and  told  him  all  that  Aurelius  had  said, 
and  how  he  had  generously  freed  her  from  her  word.  And  I 
need  tell  you  no  more  of  those  two,  save  that  Arviragus  loved 
and  honored  Dorigen  as  his  queen,  and  she  was  ever  true  and 
constant  to  him;  and  so  they  lived  happily  to  their  lives'  end. 

"But  Aurelius,  when  he  came  to  think  of  what  he  had  done, 
saw  that  for  all  his  generosity  he  was  in  a  strait. 

"  'Alas!  I  promised  the  magician  a  thousand  pounds  of  gold!' 
he  lamented.  What  shall  I  do?  I  must  sell  my  possessions 
and  turn  beggar  to  get  the  money;  I  cannot  stay  here  and  dis- 
grace all  my  kindred.  I  must  beg  for  grace,  and  pay  my  debt 
by  degrees,  and  keep  my  word  to  him  honorably.' 

"He  collected  all  the  money  which  he  had  by  him,  some  five 
hundred  pounds  or  so,  and  took  it  to  the  student  of  magic,  beg- 
ging him  of  his  gentleness  to  grant  him  time  to  pay  the  rest. 


200  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

'I  have  never  yet  failed  in  my  word/  he  said,  'and  I  will  quit 
myself  of  my  debt,  if  I  have  to  go  a-begging  in  a  threadbare 
tunic  to  do  it.  Will  you  grant  me  two  or  three  years  if  I  give 
security?  Else  I  must  sell  my  inheritance  to  get  the  money.' 

"  'Have  I  not  fulfilled  my  covenant  to  you?7  asked  the  magi- 
cian gravely. 

"  'Yes,  well  and  truly,'  answered  Aurelius. 

"  'Have  you  not  won  your  lady,  as  you  desired?'  asked  the 
other,  not  yet  knowing  what  had  happened. 

"  'No,  no,'  replied  Aurelius  with  a  sigh,  and  told  him  all  that 
he  had  done.  'I  could  not  but  have  pity,'  said  he;  'for  Arvira- 
gus  wished  rather  to  die  in  sorrow  and  distress  than  that  his 
wife  should  be  false  to  her  troth;  and  I  saw  Dorigen  sad  and 
forlorn,  yet  keeping  to  her  word ;  and  so  I  sent  her  back  freely 
to  her  husband,  as  he  had  freely  let  her  fulfill  her  promise  to  me." 

"  'Dear  friend,'  said  the  magician,  'each  of  you  has  dealt  nobly 
by  the  other.  You  are  a  squire,  and  he  is  a  knight;  but  God 
forbid  that  I,  a  humble  student  of  magic,  should  be  below  you 
in  gentle  and  generous  ways.  I,  too,  can  do  an  honorable  deed 
as  fearlessly  as  any  of  you,  and  here  I  release  you  of  the  whole 
of  your  debt  as  freely  and  utterly  as  though  you  had  but  this 
moment  crept  out  of  the  ground  and  never  before  set  eyes  on  me. 
I  will  not  take  a  penny  of  you  for  all  my  labor,  sir;  you  have 
paid  well  for  my  living  here,  and  it  is  enough.  Farewell,  and 
God  be  with  you!' 

"With  that  he  took  his  horse  and  rode  on  his  way.  And  now, 
which  of  them,  Arviragus,  Aurelius,  the  magician,  or  Dorigen, 
was  the  truest  and  most  generous,  do  you  think?" 


THE  SECOND  NUN'S  TALE 
ST.  CECILIE 

THE  Franklin  ended  his  tale,  and  the  pilgrims  thanked 
him  heartily  for  it ;  for  they  liked  to  hear  stories  which 
dwelt  particularly  on  some  one  single  virtue,  such  as 
truth-keeping  in  this  tale,  or  patience  and  obedience  in  the 
Clerk's  tale,  or  constancy  and  endurance  in  the  Man  of  Law's. 

The  next  tale  was  told  by  the  Nun,  who  came  as  attendant 
upon  the  Prioress  Eglantyne.  But  before  beginning,  she  spoke 
to  her  companions  at  some  length  about  Idleness,  "who,"  said 
she,  "is  the  doorkeeper  of  the  Garden  of  Delights;  and  to  keep 
us  from  idleness,  which  is  the  cause  of  much  confusion,  I  will 
give  you  the  story  of  St.  Cecilie,  the  maiden  martyr."  Then  she 
explained  to  them  the  meaning  and  derivation  of  the  name 
Cecilie,  as  she  understood  it,  and  at  last  began  her  tale. 

ST.  CECILIE 

CILIE  was  a  maiden  of  Rome,  of  noble  birth,  and  she 
had  been  brought  up  as  a  Christian  from  her  cradle,  though 
it  was  then  the  early  days  of  Christianity,  and  those  who  held 
that  faith  were  persecuted  and  hated.  But  Cecilie  was  steadfast 
in  her  belief,  and  ever  bore  Christ's  Gospel  in  her  heart,  never 
ceasing  to  pray  to  God  and  fear  Him. 

"As  soon  as  she  was  of  age  to  marry  she  was  betrothed  to  a 

201 


202  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

youth  named  Valerian.  But  when  the  day  appointed  for  their 
wedding  came,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  give  her  life  to 
the  service  of  God  only,  and  not  to  marry;  and  she  called  Val- 
erian and  spoke  thus  to  him:  'Beloved,  there  is  a  certain  secret 
which  concerns  me,  and  I  am  to  tell  it  you ;  you  must  swear  not 
to  betray  it.' 

"Valerian  vowed  that,  come  what  might,  he  would  never 
betray  the  secret,  and  she  went  on : 

"  'I  have  an  angel  who  loves  me  with  a  great  love,  and  guards 
me  at  all  times,  sleeping  or  waking;  and  if  ever  he  perceives 
that  your  love  towards  me  is  base  or  dishonorable,  he  will 
straightway  slay  you,  and  you  shall  die  then  and  there.  But  if 
your  love  is  true  and  honorable,  then  he  will  love  you  as  he  does 
me,  and  will  show  you  all  his  joy  and  brightness.' 

"This  she  said,  meaning  to  persuade  Valerian  to  become  a 
Christian,  for  he  was  not  yet  of  that  faith.  But  he  was  amazed 
at  her  words,  and  did  not  know  how  to  understand  them. 

"  'If  I  am  to  trust  you,'  he  said,  'let  me  see  that  angel  and 
look  upon  him ;  and  if  he  is  a  very  angel,  then  I  will  keep  your 
secret;  but  if  he  is  another  man  whom  you  love,  I  will  slay  you 
both  with  this  sword.' 

"  'If  you  wish  it,  you  shall  see  the  angel,'  said  Cecilie;  'but 
you  must  believe  on  Christ  and  be  baptized.  Go  forth  three 
miles  upon  the  Appian  Way,  and  say  to  the  poor  folk  who  dwell 
there  that  I,  Cecilie,  send  you  to  them  to  find  good  Urban  the 
Old,  for  a  secret  purpose;  and  when  you  see  this  Saint  Urban, 
tell  him  what  I  have  told  you,  for  as  soon  as  he  has  purified  you 
from  your  sin  you  shall  see  the  angel.' 

"Valerian  went  to  the  place  as  she  bade  him,  and  found  there 


THE  SECOND  NUN'S  TALE  203 

the  holy  Urban  living  secretly,  for  fear  of  persecution,  in  the 
Catacombs  where  the  saints  are  buried;  and  he  told  him  his 
errand,  and  Urban,  when  he  heard  it,  lifted  up  his  hands  in  joy, 
with  tears  falling  from  his  eyes. 

"Thanks  be  to  Almighty  God!'  he  said.  <O  Lord  Christ, 
Shepherd  of  us  all,  what  good  fruit  is  borne  by  Thy  seed  in 
Cecilie!  Lo,  her  spouse  whom  she  was  to  marry,  who  was  like 
a  fierce  lion,  now  comes  here  to  us  to  seek  Thee,  as  meek  as  any 
lamb!7 

"As  he  spoke  there  appeared  suddenly  the  form  of  an  old  man, 
clad  in  clear  white  robes,  bearing  in  his  hand  a  book  with  letters 
of  gold;  and  he  stood  before  Valerian,  who  fell  down  as  if 
dead.  But  the  old  man  raised  him  up,  and  began  to  read  to 
him  from  the  golden  letters  of  the  book  concerning  the  one 
Lord  Christ,  one  faith,  one  God,  one  baptism,  one  Father  of  all 
things  who  is  above  all  and  over  all  everywhere. 

"When  he  had  read  thus  he  asked  Valerian,  'Believest  thou 
this  thing?' 

"And  he  answered,  'I  believe  it  all,  for  no  man  can  think  of 
any  truer  word  under  heaven.' 

"Then  the  old  man  vanished,  and  Urban  christened  Valerian 
there  upon  that  spot. 

"As  soon  as  he  was  baptized,  Valerian  went  back,  and  found 
Cecilie  in  his  chamber,  with  an  angel  standing  by  her  side.  The 
angel  had  in  his  hands  two  garlands,  the  one  of  roses,  and  the 
other  of  lilies ;  one  he  gave  to  Cecilie,  and  the  other  to  Valerian, 
saying  thus :  'Keep  these  garlands  with  pure  hearts  and  bodies. 
I  have  brought  them  to  you  from  Paradise,  and  never  more  shall 
they  fade,  nor  lose  their  scent,  neither  shall  any  man  be  able  to 


204  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

see  them  who  is  not  pure  and  honorable.  And  thou,  Valerian, 
since  thou  hast  so  readily  believed  the  faith,  ask  a  boon,  and  it 
shall  be  given  thee.' 

"  'I  have  a  brother,'  answered  Valerian,  'whom  I  love  better 
than  any  man  on  earth.  I  pray  that  my  brother  may  have  grace 
to  know  the  truth  as  I  do.' 

"  'Thy  prayer  is  pleasing  to  God,'  said  the  angel,  'and  both 
of  you  shall  come  into  His  peace  with  the  palm  of  martyrdom.' 

"Even  as  the  angel  was  speaking,  Tiburce,  Valerian's  brother, 
came  into  the  chamber,  and  immediately  was  aware  of  the  scent 
of  lilies  and  roses;  and  he  wondered,  for  he  saw  no  flowers, 
and  it  was  not  the  season  for  them. 

"  'Whence  at  this  time  of  the  year  comes  that  sweet  savor  of 
roses  and  lilies  which  I  smell?'  he  said.  'If  I  had  the  flowers 
in  my  hands,  I  could  not  perceive  the  scent  more  clearly;  and 
with  that  scent  I  too  seemed  to  be  all  changed  in  another  way.' 

"  'Two  garlands  have  we,'  answered  Valerian,  'snow-white 
and  rose-red,  that  shine  brightly,  though  your  eyes  have  no  might 
to  see  them.  And  since  through  my  prayer  you  smell  their  scent, 
you  shall  also  see  them,  dear  brother,  if  you  will  straightway 
believe  aright  and  know  the  true  faith.' 

"  'Do  you  say  this  to  me  really,  or  do  I  dream?'  asked  Tiburce. 

"  'Formerly  we  dwelt  in  dreams,  brother,'  Valerian  replied, 
'but  now  we  live  only  in  the  truth.' 

"  'What  mean  you  by  this?'  asked  Tiburce. 

"  'I  will  tell  you.  An  angel  of  God  taught  me  the  truth,  and 
you  too  shall  know  it,  if  you  will  renounce  your  false  idols  and 
be  pure  in  heart.' 

"Then  Cecilie  showed  him  plainly  that  all  idols  are  vain,  for 
they  are  but  deaf  and  dumb  images ;  and  she  charged  him  to  give 


THE  SECOND  NUN'S  TALE  20$ 

them  up  and  become  a  Christian.  He  marveled  at  the  truth 
of  her  words,  and  at  length  answered  that  he  believed;  and 
Cecilie,  full  of  joy,  bade  him  be  baptized  at  once. 

"  'Go  now  with  your  brother,'  said  she,  'and  be  baptized  and 
purified  of  your  sins,  that  you  too  may  look  upon  the  angel  whom 
your  brother  has  seen.' 

"  'Tell  me  now,  dear  brother,'  said  Tiburce,  'whither  and  to 
what  man  I  must  go.' 

"To  what  man?'  replied  Valerian.  'Be  of  good  heart;  I 
will  take  you  to  Urban.' 

"  'To  Urban?'  said  Tiburce  in  surprise.  'Do  you  mean  that 
Urban  who  has  so  often  been  condemned  to  death,  and  who  is 
always  lurking  in  dark  corners,  not  daring  to  show  his  face? 
He  would  be  burnt  to  death  if  he  could  be  caught,  and  if  we 
join  him  and  seek  this  God  who  is  hidden  from  us  in  Heaven,  we 
too  shall  suffer  for  it  in  this  world!' 

"  'Nay,  but  men  might  well  fear  to  lose  this  life  if  there  were 
no  other  to  come  after  it,'  said  Cecilie.  'But  there  is  a  better 
life  in  another  place  which  none  can  lose.'  And  she  explained 
to  him  more  fully  the  Christian  faith,  until  he  was  convinced  and 
went  with  Valerian  to  seek  Urban. 

"Urban  thanked  God  for  his  coming,  and  baptized  him;  and 
he  so  increased  in  the  grace  of  God  that  every  day  he  saw  the 
angel,  and  every  boon  he  asked  of  Heaven  was  granted. 

"It  would  be  a  long  story  to  tell  you  how  many  wonders 
were  wrought  in  Rome  through  the  holy  lives  of  Cecilie  and  the 
two  brothers;  but  at  last  the  rulers  of  the  city  grew  angry  at 
their  teaching  and  the  numbers  they  converted,  and  they  were 
sent  for,  and  brought  before  the  prefect  Almachius. 

"The  prefect  questioned  them  long  and  severely,  and  learnt 


206  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

what  faith  it  was  that  they  taught;  and  in  the  end  he  set  them 
before  an  image  of  Jupiter,  the  king  of  the  Roman  gods,  pro- 
claiming, Whosoever  will  not  do  sacrifice  to  Jupiter,  his  head 
shall  be  struck  off!' 

"The  Christians  would  not  bow  down  to  the  idol,  and  they 
were  seized  by  one  Maximus,  an  officer  of  the  prefect;  but  when 
he  laid  hands  on  them  he  could  not  but  weep  for  pity.  They 
began  to  teach  both  him  and  the  executioners,  so  that  very  soon 
these  hard-hearted  Romans  themselves  began  to  lose  their  old 
heathen  faith,  and  to  learn  the  teaching  of  Christ;  and  in  a  little 
while  they  were  all  baptized  and  became  Christians. 

"The  next  day  the  three  were  once  more  led  to  the  image  of 
Jupiter,  and  ordered  to  worship  it  or  to  burn  incense  before  it; 
but  they  refused,  and  fell  on  their  knees,  and  prayed  humbly  to 
God;  and  thereupon  the  heads  of  Valerian  and  Tiburce  were 
cut  off,  and  they  died. 

"But  Maximus,  who  had  been  present  at  their  death,  spread 
the  news  of  it  far  and  wide,  and  said  that  as  they  perished  he  had 
seen  their  souls  gliding  up  to  Heaven  in  the  care  of  bright 
angels ;  and  with  his  words  he  converted  many.  But  when  this 
came  to  the  ears  of  Almachius,  he  commanded  Maximus  also 
to  be  seized,  and  beaten  with  whips  of  lead  till  he  was 
dead. 

"Cecilie  caused  his  body  to  be  buried  beside  that  of  Valerian 
and  Tiburce,  and  herself  (for  she  had  been  let  go  free)  continued 
teaching  and  doing  good.  But  soon  the  prefect  again  sent  his 
servants  to  seize  her;  and,  though  she  converted  them  also  to 
Christianity,  she  was  nevertheless  brought  before  Almachius. 

"  'Do  you  care  nothing  for  my  power ?'  he  asked  her,  when 
he  had  questioned  her  about  her  faith. 


THE  SECOND  NUN'S  TALE  207 


u  r 


Tour  might  is  little  to  be  feared/  she  answered.  'All 
mortal  power  is  but  as  a  bladder  full  of  wind  that  is  emptied 
and  shrunk  at  the  prick  of  a  needle's  point.' 

"  'You  persevere  in  wrong-doing,'  said  the  prefect.  'Do  you 
not  know  that  our  emperors  have  commanded  that  Christians 
shall  be  punished  unless  they  renounce  their  faith?' 

"  'The  wrong-doing  is  yours,  and  your  emperors  and  nobles 
err  grievously.  It  is  you  who  make  us  commit  a  crime;  yet, 
because  we  know  the  name  of  Christ  to  be  good,  we  cannot  deny 
it.' 

"  'Choose  one  or  the  other — do  sacrifice,  or  deny  your  faith 
and  so  go  free,'  said  Almachius  impatiently. 

"Cecilie  laughed  a  little.  'Over-subtle  judge,1  she  cried,  'do 
you  fancy  that  I  shall  give  up  my  innocence,  and  save  my  life  by 
wickedness?' 

"  'You  know  not  how  far  my  power  stretches,'  said  Almachius. 
'Life  and  death  are  in  my  hands ;  why,  then,  do  you  speak  so 
proudly  to  me?' 

"But  Cecilie  would  not  yield,  and  began  to  show  the  judge 
the  Christian  faith,  till  he  grew  angry  and  cried,  'Take  her 
home  to  her  house,  and  burn  her  in  a  bath  of  flame.' 

"It  was  done  as  he  ordered.  Cecilie  was  put  in  a  bath,  and 
night  and  day  they  heated  a  great  fire  underneath.  But  a  great 
miracle  came  to  pass,  for,  in  spite  of  all  the  flames,  she  suffered 
no  hurt,  nor  even  was  warmed  by  them. 

"Nevertheless  her  fate  was  to  die.  Almachius  heard  what 
happened,  and  sent  a  servant  to  slay  her  as  she  still  lay  in  the 
bath.  The  man  came,  and  smote  her  neck  with  a  sword;  three 
times  he  struck,  wounding  her  at  every  stroke,  and  yet  failed  to 
sever  her  head  from  her  body;  and  with  that  his  courage  failed 


208  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

him,  and  he  durst  lift  his  sword  no  more,  but  went  away,  leaving 
her  wounded  to  death. 

"But  there  was  one  more  marvel  before  she  died,  for  in  this 
state  she  remained  alive  three  days,  teaching  the  Gospel  and 
exhorting  her  household  to  faith  and  hope ;  and  on  the  last  day 
she  sent  for  Urban,  and  spoke  thus  to  him: 

"  'I  prayed  the  King  of  Heaven  to  grant  me  these  three  days 
of  life,  that  I  might  strengthen  and  comfort  my  friends  and 
brethren  in  faith ;  and  now  I  commit  them  to  your  charge,  with 
all  my  possessions.' 

"Thus  she  died,  and  Urban  and  his  deacons  fetched  her  body 
secretly,  and  buried  it  with  those  of  the  other  saints;  and  her 
house  was  consecrated,  and  became  the  Church  of  St.  Cecilie." 

THE  COURTEOUS  STRANGERS 

BY  the  end  of  the  Nun's  tale  the  pilgrims  had  ridden  some 
five  miles  or  more,  and  were  at  Boughton-under-Blean. 
Here  two  travelers  overtook  them.  The  foremost  of 
them,  who  seemed  to  be  the  other's  master,  wore  a  long  black 
cloak  with  a  white  surplice  underneath.  His  horse,  a  dapple- 
gray  hackney,  was  steaming  and  almost  tired  out,  as  if  from  a 
hard  ride,  and  his  servant's  was  in  no  better  case.  He  himself 
was  splashed  with  foam  till  he  looked  like  a  magpie,  and  his 
hat  was  dangling  by  a  string  at  his  back,  for  it  had  blown  off  as 
he  rode.  He  had  a  wallet,  nearly  empty,  folded  double  behind 
him  on  the  crupper,  and  he  seemed  to  be  traveling  in  light  array, 
being  dressed  as  if  it  were  summer,  and  in  threadbare  garments 
at  that.  He  must  have  been  riding  like  a  madman,  for  he  was 
in  a  wonderful  heat,  in  spite  of  a  burdock-leaf  which  he  had 


THE  COURTEOUS  STRANGERS  209 

under  his  hood  to  keep  him  cool.  The  pilgrims  could  not  make 
out  his  rank  till  they  saw  that  this  hood,  which  was  fastened  at 
the  back  of  his  cloak,  was  sewed  on,  and  then  they  knew  that  he 
was  a  canon,  a  member  of  a  properly-registered  body  of  clergy, 
because  that  was  the  dress  ordained  for  them  to  wear  when  away 
from  home. 

He  drew  near,  and  addressed  the  travelers  very  politely. 

"God  save  all  this  merry  company!"  he  cried.  "I  have  rid- 
den fast  to  overtake  you,  because  I  wanted  to  go  with  you  on 
your  way." 

His  yeoman,  or  servant,  joined  in: 

"Yes,  sirs,  I  saw  you  starting  from  your  inn  this  morning,  and 
told  my  master.  He  would  like  very  much  to  ride  with  you 
and  share  your  merriment.  He  loves  mirth." 

"Thank  you,  friend,"  answered  Harry  Bailly.  The  Host 
desired  to  find  out  a  little  more  about  these  polite  strangers. 
The  Yeoman  was  riding  by  his  side,  the  Canon  having  fallen  in 
among  the  other  pilgrims.  "Your  master  shows  his  wisdom  in 
joining  us.  I  dare  say  he  is  a  cheerful  enough  man  himself. 
Could  he  tell  us  a  tale  or  two  to  amuse  us?" 

"A  tale?  My  master  tell  a  tale?  Yes,  sir,  he  is  the  man  for 
merry  stories!  Trust  me,  you  would  be  amazed  at  his  skill  and 
cleverness  if  you  knew  him  as  well  as  I  do.  He  does  many  a 
great  work  which  all  of  you  here  would  find  it  hard  to  do  unless 
you  learnt  the  way  from  him.  Look  at  him  now;  he  is  riding 
among  you  now  so  humbly  and  quietly  like  any  ordinary  man, 
and  yet  if  you  knew  him  well  you  would  not  fail  to  get  great 
profit  thereby.  I  will  wager  all  I  have  that  you  would  not 
forego  his  friendship  for  a  good  deal.  He  is  a  great  and  wise 
man,  I  tell  you — a  man  a  long  way  out  of  the  common." 


210  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"Well,"  said  the  Host,  growing  rather  suspicious  of  all  this 
fine  talk,  "who  is  he?  Tell  me,  is  he  a  scholar?" 

"He  is  a  greater  man  than  that,"  answered  the  Yeoman.  "You 
shall  hear  a  little  about  his  business.  Of  course  I  cannot  tell  you 
everything,  though  I  myself  am  able  to  help  him  a  good  deal 
in  his  work.  You  see  this  road  on  which  we  are  riding?  Well, 
I  tell  you  my  master  is  so  clever  that  he  could  turn  it  clean  up- 
side down  from  here  to  Canterbury,  and  pave  it  all  with  silver 
and  gold!" 

"Bless  mel"  said  the  Host,  now  certain  that  the  Canon  had 
joined  the  pilgrims  only  in  order  to  cheat  money  out  of  them 
somehow  or  other.  "I  wonder  that  such  a  clever  man,  one  to 
whom  men  should  look  up  with  such  reverence,  thinks  so  little 
of  his  position ;  his  cloak  is  all  dirty  and  torn  and  useless.  Why 
does  your  master  go  so  poorly  clad,  tell  me,  if  he  can  do  such 
wonders  as  you  say?" 

The  Yeoman  began  to  think  that  he  was  found  out,  and  the 
Host's  question  startled  him.  The  thought  of  the  life  which  he 
was  praising  so  boldly,  but  which  was  really  one  of  endless  hard- 
ship, overwhelmed  him  for  the  moment,  and  he  lost  his  presence 
of  mind. 

"Why  do  you  ask  me  such  questions?"  he  said  hastily. 
"Heaven  help  me,  my  master  will  never  make  a  living  for  us!" 
Then  he  collected  his  senses,  and  tried  to  undo  what  he  had  said. 
"But  you  must  not  believe  every  word  I  say,  and  so  I  beg  you  to 
keep  our  poverty  a  secret,  if  you  can.  The  reason  why  we  seem 
so  poor  is  that  my  master  is  too  clever.  He  has  great  wisdom — • 
too  much,  indeed,  for  he  misuses  it.  It  grieves  me  that  he  does 
so,  but  I  can  'do  no  more  than  pray  that  he  may  become  a  better 


i  man." 


THE  COURTEOUS  STRANGERS  211 

"Never  mind  that,  good  Yeoman,"  said  Harry  Bailly,  "but 
since  you  know  your  master's  business,  tell  us  how  he  uses  this 
cunning  of  his.  Where  do  you  live?" 

"In  the  suburbs  of  a  town,"  replied  the  Yeoman,  giving  up 
the  attempt  to  deceive  the  Host  any  longer,  "lurking  in  terrible 
dark  corners  and  blind  alleys,  where  robbers  and  thieves  who 
dare  not  show  their  faces  are  hidden.  That  is  where  we  live, 
if  you  must  have  the  truth." 

"Very  well.    Now  another  thing:  why  is  your  face  so  pale?" 

"From  blowing  the  furnace.  I  do  it  so  much  that  it  has 
changed  my  color.  We  are  alchemists,  if  you  must  know,  al- 
ways seeking  to  turn  everything  into  gold;  and  hard  work  I  have 
over  it.  We  cram  our  heads  with  calculations  till  we  are  stupid, 
and  then  pore  over  the  fire  endlessly,  but  nothing  ever  comes  of 
it.  We  borrow  money — a  pound  or  so,  or  ten  or  twelve,  or  even 
more,  and  tell  the  people  we  will  make  them  two  pounds  out  of 
every  one  which  they  lend  us.  Yet  we  always  fail,  though  we 
are  forever  groping  and  searching  hopefully  after  success.  We 
cannot  do  as  we  promise,  and  the  money  slips  away  so  fast  that 
we  are  beggars  in  the  end." 

While  the  Yeoman  was  talking  the  Canon  drew  near.  He 
had  a  guilty  conscience,  and  was  always  suspicious  of  what  men 
said  out  of  his  hearing.  As  soon  as  he  caught  a  few  words  he 
guessed  what  was  happening. 

"Hold  your  peace,  knave  1"  he  burst  out.  "Not  a  word  more, 
or  you  shall  rue  it!  You  are  slandering  me  to  this  company, 
and  revealing  all  our  secrets." 

"Tell  on,  Yeoman,"  said  the  Host,  "and  never  heed  his 
threats." 

"Faith,  there  is  little  more  to  tell,"  said  the  Yeoman. 


212  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

The  Canon  saw  that  he  was  betrayed,  and  that  his  servant 
would  let  the  pilgrims  into  all  his  secrets.  He  turned  his  horse 
round  angrily,  and  rode  away  in  a  fury  of  shame  and  rage,  and 
they  saw  no  more  of  him. 

"Now  I  will  speak  freely,  and  give  you  something  to  laugh 
at,"  said  the  Yeoman.  "I  will  tell  you  all  I  can  now  that  he  is 
gone.  Bad  luck  to  him!  I  hope  he  will  be  well  paid  out  for 
taking  me  into  his  trade.  I  would  not  go  back  to  serve  him 
again  for  any  wages  you  could  give  me.  All  the  tricks  I  had  to 
play  in  his  service  were  deadly  earnest  for  me,  for  our  living 
hung  upon  them,  and  I  never  had  a  chance  to  leave  him  before 
in  spite  of  all  my  toil  and  misery.  But  now  that  he  is  gone  I  will 
not  spare  him.  You  shall  learn  something  about  the  secrets 
of  alchemy. 

"I  was  with  the  Canon  seven  long  years,  and  am  none  the 
better  off  after  it  all.  All  that  I  had  I  have  lost,  and  so  has 
mariy  another  man  who  trusted  him.  When  I  first  went  to  him 
I  was  fresh  and  red-cheeked  and  gayly  clad;  now  my  face  is  pale 
and  lead-colored,  and  my  eyes  all  sore  from  the  fire,  and  I  have 
to  use  an  old  stocking  to  cover  my  head.  I  have  toiled  un- 
ceasingly, and  have  got  no  good  out  of  it,  and  I  shall  never  be 
free  from  the  debts  for  the  gold  I  have  borrowed.  So  much  for 
the  profits  of  the  slippery  science  of  alchemy!  Anyone  who  be- 
comes an  alchemist  first  of  all  loses  his  own  money,  and  then 
tries  to  make  others  do  the  same. 

"This  is  how  we  would  set  to  work.  We  talked  to  everyone 
very  wisely  and  glibly  about  our  wonderful  science,'  using  strange 
terms,  though  for  my  part  all  I  had  to  do  was  to  blow  the  fire  till 
I  was  tired  out.  We  kept  our  furnace  burning  all  day  and  all 
night  too,  and  made  use  of  all  sorts  of  drugs  and  powders.  We 


THE  COURTEOUS  STRANGERS  213 

ourselves,  as  well  as  our  dupes,  were  always  full  of  fresh  hope 
after  each  failure.  Men  grow  so  eager  in  this  kind  of  learning 
that  if  they  had  but  one  coat  to  cover  their  bodies  with  they 
would  sell  it  in  order  to  he  able  to  continue  their  search." 

Then  the  Yeoman  gave  a  long  list  of  all  the  strange  mixtures 
they  had  to  buy  and  make  up.  But  it  was  all  in  vain ;  they  never 
succeeded  in  turning  other  metals  into  gold.  And  when  they 
had  done  everything  according  to  their  calculations,  "the  pot 
would  blow  up  and  burst  all  over  the  room,  and  good-by  to 
all  our  labor  and  all  our  money!  Pieces  of  metal  would  fly  into 
every  corner,  and  some  would  even  break  holes  in  the  wall  with 
the  force  of  the  explosion.  Then  the  people  who  had  lent  us 
the  money  or  metal  would  be  discontented  and  blame  us.  One 
said  that  the  metal  was  too  long  in  the  furnace;  another,  that 
the  fire  was  not  properly  blown,  and  that  would  make  me  feel 
a  little  afraid,  for  the  blowing  was  my  share  of  the  work;  but  a 
third  would  laugh  at  such  a  reason,  and  say  that  it  was  because 
the  heat  was  not  properly  regulated,  or  because  the  fire  was 
made  of  beech-wood. 

"  'Well,'  my  master  would  answer  them,  'there  is  nothing  to 
be  done.  The  pot  must  have  been  cracked;  I  will  be  more  care- 
ful in  future.  Pluck  up  your  spirits,  and  let  us  sweep  the 
pieces  together.' 

"The  pieces  would  be  collected,  and  each  one  would  search 
them  and  think  that  he  had  come  upon  a  little  piece  of  his  own 
particular  metal  among  them  (they  used  to  bring  us  bars  of 
metal  to  turn  into  gold,  besides  paying  for  our  acids  and  drugs). 
'Never  mind  that,'  my  master  used  to  say;  'if  I  do  not  set  it 
all  right  next  time  put  the  blame  on  me.  Trust  me,  sirs,  there 
must  have  been  some  little  mistake,  I  am  sure.' 


214  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"It  was  all  of  no  avail.  Yet  we  kept  to  it  like  madmen  in 
spite  of  failure,  and  we  were  all  as  wise  as  so  many  Solomons 
when  we  talked  about  it  together. 

*  Well,  all  that  glitters  is  not  gold,  they  say,  and  he  who  seemed 
to  be  the  wisest  of  us  often  turned  out  a  fool  when  it  came  to 
the  work,  while  the  most  honest-seeming  might  after  all  be  a 
thief,  as  you  will  see  by  the  tale  I  will  now  tell  you." 


THE  CANON'S  YEOMAN'S  TALE 
THE  ALCHEMIST 

THERE  is  a  certain  canon  of  whom  I  have  heard  whose 
cunning  would  be  great  enough  to  corrupt  a  whole  town, 
though  it  were  as  big  as  Nineveh  or  Rome,  or  Troy,  or 
Alexandria,  or  any  other  three  put  together.     No  man,  even 
if  he  wrote  for  a  thousand  years,  could  tell  of  all  this  canon's 
subtlety  and  falseness.     He  has  only  to  speak  to  a  man  to  wheedle 
him  out  of  his  senses,  and  though  he  has  beguiled  many  a  one  ere 
now,  and  will  beguile  many  more,  nevertheless  people  are  still 
ignorant  enough  to  flock  to  make  his  acquaintance  and  be  taken 
in  by  him. 

"But  you  must  not  think,"  said  the  Yeoman  gravely,  breaking 
off  for  a  moment,  "that  I  mean  this  canon  to  stand  as  a  type  of 
all  canons ;  God  forbid  that  a  whole  community  should  get  a  bad 
name  from  one  man's  folly!  I  do  not  mean  to  slander  canons 
in  general,  but  only  to  show  what  is  amiss,  for  you  know  that 
there  may  be  one  traitor  even  among  the  best  of  men.  As  for 
this  canon  who  is  the  subject  of  my  tale,  my  tongue  is  too  feeble 
to  describe  all  his  wickedness ;  still,  I  will  do  my  best  that  it  may 
be  a  warning  to  you." 

"Is  this  canon  of  whom  you  tell  your  master  who  has  just  left 
us?"  asked  the  Host. 

"No,  my  master  was  a  cunning  and  treacherous  rogue,  as  even 
my  poor  discolored  cheeks  show  by  blushing  when  you  speak  of 
him;  but  this  canon  was  a  hundred  times  more  subtle  than  he, 

215 


216  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

and  what  I  will  tell  you  is  only  one  little  one  of  all  his  tricks. 

"There  was  a  certain  salaried  priest  living  in  London  who 
was  very  well  off  for  money.  He  made  himself  so  pleasant  to 
the  good-wife  of  the  house  where  he  lodged  that  she  charged  him 
nothing  for  board,  and  let  him  take  whatever  clothes  he  liked 
from  her  store,  however  rich  or  gay,  so  that  he  had  enough  silver 
and  to  spare  for  spending  as  he  wished. 

"One  day  the  crafty  canon  came  into  his  chamber. 

"  'Lend  me  a  mark,'  *  he  asked,  'for  just  three  days.  I  will 
be  sure  to  pay  you  back  in  good  time.  If  I  do  not,  why,  I  give 
you  leave  to  hang  me  by  the  neck.' 

"The  priest  was  nothing  loth,  and  gave  him  a  mark  with  all 
speed,  and  he  took  his  leave  and  went  away.  On  the  third 
day  he  brought  the  money  punctually  and  repaid  the  priest,  who 
was  very  glad  to  have  it  back  again. 

"  'I  am  always  ready,'  he  said  in  his  joy,  'to  lend  a  friend  a 
noble  or  two,  especially  when  he  is  so  true  to  his  promise  as 
never  to  put  off  the  day  of  payment;  I  can  never  refuse  such  a 
man.' 

"  'I  would  not  be  so  false  as  to  delay  in  repaying  you,'  said  the 
crafty  canon.  'That  would  be  against  my  nature,  for  truth  is  a 
thing  that  I  will  always  hold  by  until  the  day  when  I  creep  into 
the  grave.  No  man  was  ever  sorry  for  lending  me  gold  or  silver, 
and  I  have  never  been  untrue  to  anyone.  And  now,'  he  added, 
'since  you  have  been  so  good  to  me,  and  have  treated  me  so 
kindly,  I  will  show  you  some  of  my  secrets  to  repay  you,  and 
if  you  care  to  learn  them,  I  will  teach  you  some  of  the  ways  of 
science.  I  will  do  a  master-stroke  ere  I  leave  you.' 

"  'Indeed,'  said  the  priest,  'will  you?     Pray  do  so.' 

*  A  coin  worth  about  $3.25. 


THE  CANON'S  YEOMAN'S  TALE  217 

"  'As  you  will,'  answered  the  canon.  'I  will  not  do  anything 
against  your  wish.' 

"  The  priest  knew  nothing  of  the  canon's  roguery,  and  was  al- 
together deceived  by  his  artful  politeness  and  promises,  and  his 
cunning  offers  of  friendly  service. 

"  'Let  your  servant  go  and  fetch  some  quicksilver  as  speedily 
as  possible,'  said  the  canon — 'two  or  three  ounces  of  it.  When 
he  has  brought  it  I  will  show  you  a  marvel  the  like  of  which  you 
never  yet  saw.' 

"  'It  shall  be  done  as  you  say,  sir,'  answered  the  priest,  and 
sent  his  man  in  haste  on  the  errand.  When  the  quicksilver 
arrived  the  servant  was  set  to  work  to  bring  coals  to  make  a  fire, 
and  the  canon  produced  a  little  crucible  from  the  folds  of  his 
garments. 

"  'Take  this  vessel,'  he  said  to  the  priest,  'and  put  in  it  an 
ounce  of  quicksilver,  for  now  it  is  time  for  you  to  learn  science 
and  become  a  philosopher.  There  are  not  many  men  to  whom 
I  would  show  so  great  a  secret  as  this,  for  what  I  am  going  to  do 
is  to  work  upon  this  quicksilver  in  such  a  manner  that  it  will 
turn  before  your  very  eyes  into  real  refined  silver,  as  pure  and 
good  as  any  you  carry  in  your  purse;  and  I  shall  accomplish 
this  by  means  of  a  certain  powder,  very  dear  and  rare,  which  I 
have  with  me.  Let  your  man  leave  the  room,  and  shut  the  door 
fast,  for  we  can  have  no  spies  upon  such  a  secret  as  this.' 

"Everything  was  done  as  the  canon  ordered,  and  the  priest  set 
the  crucible  with  the  quicksilver  in  it  on  the  fire,  and  fell  to 
blowing  up  the  flames  busily.  The  canon  cast  into  the  crucible 
a  powder  made  of  chalk  or  powdered  glass,  or  something  else 
quite  worthless,  for  it  was  only  meant  as  a  blind  to  deceive  the 
priest 


218  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 


U    I 


Tile  the  coals  and  charcoal  all  round  and  over  the  crucible/ 
he  said.  'To  show  the  regard  I  have  for  you,  you  shall  yourself 
with  your  own  hands  do  the  greater  part  of  this  marvel.' 

"  'Thank  you,'  answered  the  priest,  glad  to  be  taken  into  the 
canon's  confidence,  as  he  thought. 

"But  while  the  priest  was  busily  tending  the  fire  the  canon 
took  out  of  his  pocket  a  carefully-prepared  lump  of  beech-wood 
charcoal,  which  had  a  hole  in  it  containing  about  an  ounce  of 
silver  filings.  The  hole  was  stopped  up  with  wax. 

"  'You  are  not  arranging  the  fire  aright,'  said  the  canon,  hold- 
ing the  lump  of  charcoal  concealed  in  his  hand.  *I  will  soon 
see  to  it.  Let  me  come  for  a  moment,  for  I  see  you  are  hot 
with  your  work,  and  would  like  to  wipe  your  face.' 

"As  the  priest  was  wiping  his  face,  and  could  not  see  clearly 
what  was  done  to  the  fire,  the  canon  laid  his  charcoal  well  over 
the  crucible,  and  covered  it  up  with  other  pieces  of  coal  and 
charcoal.  Then  he  began  to  blow  the  fire  vigorously  till  it 
flamed  and  burnt  up  furiously,  so  that  the  wax  in  the  beechen 
charcoal  was  melted,  and  the  silver  filings  fell  out*  of  the  hole 
into  the  crucible. 

"Meanwhile  the  canon  and  the  priest  sat  down  and  feasted, 
so  as  to  let  the  fire  cool,  and  at  length  they  looked  at  the  result 
of  their  work.  The  priest  was  amazed  when  he  saw  the  silver 
filings,  for  of  course  he  had  noticed  no  difference  between  the 
extra  piece  of  charcoal  and  the  rest. 

"As  soon  as  the  canon  saw  that  the  time  was  ripe  for  another 
trick,  he  said  to  the  priest:  'I  know  that  you  have  not  such  a 
thing  as  a  silver  ingot.  Go  out  now  and  get  a  piece  of  chalk, 
and  I  will  make  you  an  ingot  out  of  it.  Bring  also  a  bowl  or 
pan  full  of  water.  But  perhaps  to  prevent  you  thinking  that  I 


THE  CANON'S  YEOMAN'S  TALE  219 

am  preparing  some  trick  in  your  absence,  I  had  best  come  with 
you.' 

"So  they  went  out  together,  and  presently  came  back  with  all 
that  was  required.  The  canon  took  the  chalk  and  scraped  it 
into  the  shape  of  an  ingot  which  he  had  hidden  in  his  robes ;  the 
real  ingot  was  of  silver,  an  ounce  or  so  in  weight.  He  threw 
the  chalk-stone  into  the  crucible,  and  managed  to  put  in  the 
silver  ingot  also  without  the  priest  observing  it.  Then  after 
a  time  he  turned  the  whole  contents  of  the  crucible  into  the  pan 
of  water,  and  called  to  the  priest:  'Look  in  the  bowl!  Put 
your  hand  in  and  grope,  and  you  will  find  silver,  I  expect.' 

"The  priest  put  his  hand  in,  and  of  course  brought  out  the  bar 
of  silver. 

"  'A  blessing  on  you,  Sir  Canon  I'  he  cried  joyously.  'If  you 
will  be  so  kind  as  to  teach  me  all  this  noble  science  and  its  sub- 
tlety, I  will  serve  you  as  well  as  ever  I  can.' 

"  'Well,'  said  the  canon,  'try  this  experiment  a  second  time, 
that  you  may  watch  it  and  learn  it  carefully,  and  some  other  day, 
when  I  am  not  here,  you  may  try  it  for  yourself.  Take  another 
ounce  of  quicksilver,  and  do  as  you  did  the  first  time.' 

"The  covetous  priest  needed  no  second  order,  but  fell  to  blow- 
ing the  fire  again,  having  put  the  crucible  and  quicksilver  in  the 
midst.  Meanwhile  the  canon  brought  out  a  long  stick  which  he 
had  ready  for  the  purpose;  the  end  of  it  was  hollow,  and  in  it 
were  put  silver  filings,  the  hole  being  stopped  up  with  wax. 
The  canon  cast  in  a  powder,  and  began  to  poke  the  fire  with  the 
stick  till  the  wax  was  melted  and  the  silver  dropped  out. 

"Once  more  the  poor  deluded  priest  was  overjoyed,  and  of- 
fered himself  as  a  servant  for  life  to  the  canon. 

"  'Yes,'  said  the  canon  complacently,  but  with  a  meaning 


220  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

which  the  priest  could  not  then  understand,  'though  I  am  poor 
I  am  clever;  but  there  is  more  to  come.  Have  you  any  copper?' 

"  'Yes,  sir,  I  think  so,'  answered  the  priest. 

"  'If  not,  buy  some,'  said  the  canon. 

"The  priest  procured  some  copper,  and  they  weighed  it;  it 
came  to  about  an  ounce.  It  was  put  in  the  crucible,  and  the 
canon  cast  in  a  powder  while  the  priest  tended  the  fire,  stoop- 
ing low  over  the  coals.  The  canon  slipped  a  piece  of  silver 
into  the  crucible,  and  afterwards  turned  the  whole  again  into 
the  pan,  and  once  more  the  priest  groped  and  found  the  silver. 

"The  canon  thought  that  he  had  done  enough  to  get  what  he 
wanted  out  of  the  priest;  he  had  worked  each  trick  twice,  and 
it  only  remained  to  test  the  silver  which  he  had  pretended  to 
make. 

"  'Let  us  go  to  some  silversmith  with  this  metal,'  he  said  to 
the  priest,  'and  find  out  if  it  really  is  silver.' 

"So  they  went  and  had  the  silver  tested,  and  were  told  that  it 
was  good  metal.  And  now  the  priest  was  at  the  height  of  his 
joy;  he  was  as  glad  as  a  nightingale  in  May  or  a  bird  at  sunrise, 
and  no  gay  knight  was  ever  more  eager  to  do  deeds  of  prowess 
for  the  honor  of  his  lady  than  this  priest  was  to  get  from  the 
canon  the  recipe  for  making  the  powder  which  had  done  such 
wonders,  and  he  begged  him  to  say  how  much  he  should  pay  to 
learn  it. 

"  'Well,'  answered  the  canon,  'it  is  very  expensive,  I  warn 
you,  for  except  myself  and  a  certain  friar  no  one  else  in  England 
knows  how  to  make  the  powder.' 

"  'No  matter,'  said  the  priest,  'for  Heaven's  sake  tell  me  what 
I  am  to  pay.' 

"  'It  is  very  dear,  as  I  said,'  replied  the  other,  'but  if  you  will 


THE  CANON'S  YEOMAN'S  TALE  221 

have  it  you  must  pay  me  forty  pounds  for  the  secret;  and  if  it 
were  not  that  you  have  done  me  a  kindness  you  would  have  had 
to  pay  much  more.' 

"The  priest  somehow  collected  forty  pounds  and  gave  them  to 
the  canon,  who  in  return  provided  him  with  a  long  parchment, 
which  he  said  contained  the  recipe.  "I  do  not  wish  to  lose  any- 
thing/ he  added,  'and  so  I  beg  you  to  keep  this  secret.  If  men 
knew  that  I  could  do  these  wonders  they  would  be  so  jealous 
that  they  would  kill  me.' 

"'Heaven  forbid!'  answered  the  priest.  'I  would  rather 
spend  all  I  have,  and  not  use  this  precious  recipe,  than  that  you 
should  meet  with  such  a  fate!' 

"  Well,  good  luck  befall  you,  and  farewell!'  said  the  canon. 

"With  that  he  went  his  way,  and  the  priest  never  set  eyes  on 
him  again.  But  when  the  priest  came  to  examine  his  recipe  and 
tried  to  make  silver  with  its  aid,  all  his  toil  came  to  nothing, 
and  he  found  that  he  had  been  tricked. 

"Let  this,  then,  be  a  warning  to  you  all,"  ended  the  Yeoman, 
"never  to  meddle  with  alchemy,  or  with  those  who  are  forever 
seeking  to  find  the  philosopher's  stone  which  will  turn  all  things 
into  gold.  It  is  Heaven's  will  that  that  stone  shall  not  be  found, 
and  if  you  search  for  it  you  will  never  thrive.  My  tale  is 
ended." 

A  QUARREL  AND  A  MISHAP 

SOON  after  this   the  pilgrims  reached    a  little  town  close 
under  Blean  Forest,  near  Canterbury,  called  Bob-up-and- 
Down.     As  they  were  passing  through  it  the  Host  caught  sight 
of  the  Cook,  who  was  overcome  with  sleep,  rolling  from  side 
to  side  on  his  horse,  and  in  great  danger  of  falling  off. 


222  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"Ho,  ho!"  cried  the  Host,  "will  someone  wake  our  comrade 
behind  there?  He  is  asleep;  he  will  fall  from  his  horse,  and 
any  thief  might  rob.  him.  Can  it  be  a  Cook  of  London  that  I 
see  sleeping  thus?  Make  him  come  forward,  and  let  us  look 
at  him.  He  shall  tell  us  another  tale,  or  pay  the  penalty  which 
he  knows  well  enough.  Wake  up,  Cookl  Why  are  you  slum- 
bering in  the  day-time?" 

The  Cook's  face  was  all  pale,  and  he  answered  drowsily:  "I 
am  so  heavy  with  sleep  that  I  would  rather  have  a  nap  than  any- 
thing you  could  give  me." 

"Well,"  the  Manciple  broke  in,  "I  acquit  you  of  your  tale, 
Cook.  Who  wants  to  hear  a  story  from  him?  Look  at  his 
dazed  eyes,  and  his  mouth  gaping  as  if  he  would  swallew  us  all ! 
See  how  unsteady  he  is  on  his  horse!  How  would  you  like  to  go 
tilting  at  the  quintain  now,  Cook?  You  would  fall  off  before 
you  reached  it,  I  warrant!" 

The  quintain  was  a  cross-bar  with  a  broad,  flat  surface  at  one 
end  and  a  sand-bag  at  the  other;  it  spun  on  a  pivot  at  the  top  of  a 
pole,  and  men  used  to  tilt  at  the  broad  end  (or  fan)  with  lances, 
showing  their  skill  in  avoiding  the  sand-bag  as  it  swung  round 
when  the  fan  was  struck;  it  was  a  common  pastime  in  Chaucer's 
day.  A  quintain  is  still  to  be  seen  at  Offham,  in  Kent,  some 
thirty  miles  or  so  from  where  the  pilgrims  now  were. 

The  Cook  was  so  angry  at  the  Manciple's  taunting  words  that 
his  rage  made  him  speechless,  and  he  could  find  no  words  to 
answer  him,  but  only  nodded  his  head  furiously,  and  in  his 
wrath  he  swayed  to  and  fro  so  violently  that  the  horse  threw 
him,  and  he  fell  to  the  ground. 

The  pilgrims  picked  him  up,  and  got  him  on  horseback  again 
with  great  pains,  shoving  him  this  way  and  that  to  make  him 


A  QUARREL  AND  A  MISHAP  223 

stay  on.  At  last  they  got  his  unwieldy  body  fixed  in  the  saddle, 
and  the  Host  turned  to  speak  to  the  Manciple. 

A  manciple,  you  must  know,  was  an  officer  who  had  charge 
of  the  food  of  a  college  or  of  one  of  die  Inns  of  Court,  and  had 
to  order  victuals  for  all  their  meals.  The  one  who  went  with 
the  pilgrims  was  a  model  of  what  such  men  could  be,  and  his 
accounts  were  always  correct,  with  a  balance  on  the  right  side, 
whether  he  paid  ready  money  or  took  his  goods  on  credit.  Many 
of  his  masters — for  he  had  thirty  or  more  of  them,  all  of  whom 
he  found  time  to  serve — were  clever  enough  to  manage  any  sort 
of  business,  and  yet  this  manciple  contrived  to  befool  them  all. 

"It  is  no  use  to  ask  the  Cook  for  a  tale,"  said  Harry  Bailly 
to  him,  when  the  Cook  was  once  more  safely  on  his  horse ;  "he 
will  have  trouble  enough  to  stay  where  he  is,  and,  besides,  he  has 
a  cold  in  his  head,  and  does  nothing  but  grunt  and  puff.  But 
you  should  not  have  spoken  so  rudely  to  him,  Sir  Manciple. 
Remember,  he  is  a  cook,  and  may  be  able  to  pay  you  back  some 
day,  when  you  come  to  buy  the  food  which  he  is  to  roast  or 
bake.  He  might  speak  up  about  little  things  in  your  business, 
and  make  you  be  careful  to  spend  your  money  honestly." 

"That  would  be  a  great  misfortune,"  answered  the  Manciple. 
"No,  I  must  not  quarrel  with  him;  I  would  rather  pay  for  that 
great  horse  of  his  than  make  an  enemy  of  him.  See,  I  have 
here  some  very  good  wine  in  a  flask.  Perhaps  the  Cook  will 
drink  some  of  it;  he  would  not  say  no." 

The  Cook  was  nothing  loth.  He  drank  the  wine,  and  thanked 
the  Manciple  as  well  as  he  could;  and  so  the  quarrel  ended. 
Then  the  Host  asked  the  Manciple  for  a  tale,  which  he  began 
forthwith. 


THE  MANCIPLE'S  TALE 
HOW  CROWS  BECAME  BLACK 

WHEN  Phoebus,  the  god  of  light,  dwelt  formerly  on 
earth  (as  old  books  tell  us) ,  he  was  the  finest  and  come- 
liest  man  in  all  this  world,  and  the  best  archer.  He 
slew  the  serpent  Python  as  it  lay  asleep  in  the  sun,  and  did 
many  another  noble  deed  with  his  good  bow;  moreover,  he  could 
play  on  every  instrument  of  music  so  surpassingly  that  it  was  a 
delight  to  hear  his  melody.  In  fact,  he  was  the  seemliest  man 
that  ever  was  since  the  world  began,  full  of  gentleness  and  honor 
and  perfect  uprightness. 

"He  kept  at  home  in  his  house  a  crow,  in  a  cage,  and  taught 
it  to  speak,  as  men  sometimes  teach  jays.  This  crow  was  white 
as  a  snow-white  swan,  and  could  imitate  any  man's  speech  and 
talk  well  himself ;  and  he  could  also  sing  as  merrily  and  well  as 
any  nightingale. 

"Phoebus  had  a  wife  whom  he  loved  more  than  life  itself, 
and  night  and  day  did  his  best  to  please  her  and  do  her  rever- 
ence, thinking  that  he  was  high  in  her  favor,  and  that  she  loved 
no  one  else.  But  he  was  deceived  in  her,  for,  in  spite  of  his 
comeliness,  she  really  loved  another,  a  man  of  little  repute, 
worth  nothing  by  comparison  with  Phoebus,  whom  she  had 
married  only  for  his  position,  though  in  truth  she  pretended  to 
be  loving  enough  to  him. 

"It  happened  that  the  white  crow  one  day  saw  the  woman 

and  her  lover  conversing  very  fondly  together  when  Phoebus  was 

224 


THE  MANCIPLE'S  TALE  225 

absent.  He  made  no  sign,  and  said  never  a  word  to  them  then; 
but  when  Phoebus  came  home  he  began  crying  out  loudly  and 
calling  him  names. 

"  'What  evil  song  is  that  that  you  are  singing,  bird?'  asked 
Phoebus,  startled.  'You  used  to  sing  so  merrily  that  my  heart 
rejoiced  to  hear  you;  but  what  is  this?' 

"  'I  sing  aright,'  answered  the  crow.  Thoebus,  for  all  your 
uprightness,  for  all  your  beauty  and  gentleness,  for  all  your 
songs  and  minstrelsy,  you  are  deceived;  you  are  despised  by 
your  wife,  who  loves  a  mean  fellow  of  poor  estate,  not  worth  a 
gnat  by  comparison  with  you!' 

"The  crow  made  Phoebus  know  for  sure  that  his  words  were 
true,  and  Phoebus,  his  heart  full  of  sorrow  and  anger,  set  an  ar- 
row in  his  bow,  and  shot  his  wife ;  and  then  in  his  woe  he  broke 
up  all  his  instruments  of  music — his  harp,  lute,  cittern,  and 
psaltery — and  then  his  bow  and  arrows.  But  when  he  had  done 
this  in  the  heat  of  his  anger,  he  grew  cool  again,  and  turned  to 
the  crow  (who  was  watching  the  effect  of  his  rash  words),  and 
spoke  thus : 

"  'Traitor!  with  your  scorpion's  tongue  you  have  brought  me 
to  confusion.  Dear  wife — you  who  were  so  true  to  me — you  are 
lying  dead,  all  guiltless,  I  vow.  Why  did  I  trust  such  a  hasty 
rumor  as  this  false  crow  told  me?  Where  was  my  wit?  where 
my  discretion?  You  false  thief  of  a  bird,  I  will  pay  you  out! 
You  used  to  sing  like  a  nightingale ;  now  you  shall  lose  all  your 
song,  and  with  it  every  one  of  your  white  feathers.  Never  in 
your  life  shall  you  be  able  to  speak  again;  you  and  your  off- 
spring forever  shall  be  black,  and  shall  have  no  sweet  voice,  but 
shall  only  cry  as  a  warning  against  tempests  and  rain,  in  token 
that  it  was  through  you  that  my  wife  was  slain.' 


226  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"With  that  he  laid  hold  of  the  crow,  and  pulled  out  every 
one  of  his  white  feathers,  and  took  away  his  voice  and  speech, 
and  made  him  black,  and  flung  him  out  of  doors;  and  for  that 
reason  all  crows  have  ever  since  been  black  and  harsh-voiced. 

"Take  heed,  therefore,  how  you  speak  about  other  people, 
sirs.  Just  as  a  sword  cuts  an  arm  off,  so  does  a  sharp  tongue 
sever  friendship;  keep  a  guard  on  it,  then,  and  remember  the 


crow." 


THE  PARSON 

BY  the  end  of  the  Manciple's  tale  the  afternoon  was  drawing 
to  a  close,  and  with  it  the  journey  to  Canterbury.  It  was 
nearly  four  o'clock  when  the  pilgrims  reached  a  little  village 
through  which  their  road  lay,  and  the  Host  spoke  again  to 
them. 

"We  want  only  one  tale  more  now,  sirs,"  he  said.  "My  task 
is  nearly  over  for  this  half  of  our  journey.  Sir  Priest,"  he  went 
on,  turning  to  the  Parson,  "it  is  time  that  you  told  a  story.  Open 
your  wallet  of  learning,  and  let  us  see  what  you  can  give  us. 
You  ought  to  be  able  to  tell  a  fine  tale." 

But  the  Parson  would  not  fall  in  with  the  jests  and  mirth  of 
which  the  other  pilgrims  were  so  fond.  "You  get  no  tale  out 
of  me,"  he  answered.  "Why  should  I  sow  chaff  for  you  when 
I  could  as  well  sow  wheat?  If  you  would  like  an  honest  dis- 
course on  virtue  and  goodness,  to  show  you  the  way  on  that 
perfect,  glorious  pilgrimage  to  the  heavenly  Jerusalem,  I  can 
give  it  you ;  but  as  for  a  story,  I  am  a  man  of  the  South  Country, 
and  you  know  that  we  Southerners  cannot  spin  out  sounding 
rhymes — 'rum,  ram,  ruf ' — as  endlessly  as  you  others  do." 


THE  PARSON  227 

The  good  Parson  meant  that  in  his  part  of  the  country  men 
did  not  want  to  hear  or  sing  the  jingling  poems,  all  filled  with 
words  beginning  with  the  same  letter,  which  many  folk  liked  so 
much.  But  the  pilgrims  were  willing  to  hear  him,  none  the  less. 

"Say  what  you  like,  Parson,"  the  Host  told  him,  "but  lose  no 
time  in  beginning.  The  sun  will  go  down  in  a  little  while." 

Then  the  Parson  spoke  to  them  as  he  had  wished.  He  gave 
them  a  noble  sermon  to  remind  them  to  repent  of  their  sins,  and 
remember  the  purpose  for  which  they  had  come  on  this  pil- 
grimage; and  this  was  a  fit  ending  to  their  journey,  for  they 
saw  the  spires  and  battlements  and  city  walls  of  Canterbury 
itself  before  them  as  he  was  finishing  it. 


AT  CANTERBURY 
THE  CHEQUER  OF  THE  HOOP 

WHEN  the  pilgrims  reached  Canterbury,  they  entered 
the  city  gate,  and  made  their  way  to  a  well-known 
inn  called  the  Chequer  of  the  Hoop.  Here  they 
stopped  for  the  night,  meaning  to  go  the  next  morning  to  the 
Cathedral,  and  pay  their  vows  at  the  shrine  of  St.  Thomas. 

On  the  morrow  they  rose  in  good  time,  and  all  had  breakfast 
together.  But  the  Pardoner  found  that  he  fared  very  badly, 
because  the  inn-servants  paid  such  respect  to  rank  that  the  poorer 
members  of  the  company  were  neglected,  and  a  Pardoner  was  not 
a  very  great  person  socially.  He  was  passed  over  by  the  at- 
tendants, while  the  grander  people  avoided  him  and  did  not 
speak  to  him.  Only  one  person  seemed  at  all  willing  to  serve 
him,  and  that  was  the  tapstress,  the  girl  who  drew  the  ale  and 
wine  for  the  guests;  and  even  she  was  too  busy  to  do  much  for 
him,  for  the  innkeeper  was  all  in  a  bustle  at  receiving  so  many 
customers,  and  rated  his  servants  soundly  if  they  were  not  quick 
and  diligent  in  their  duty. 

At  last  she  managed  to  beckon  to  the  Pardoner  to  follow  her 
into  the  little  taproom. 

"This  is  my  room,"  she  said,  "and  here  I  sit  by  myself  all 
alone  since  my  husband  Jenkyn  Harper  died.  Did  you  know 
him?  Ah,  he  was  a  fine  man,  from  top  to  toe,  and  you  would 

never  find  a  better  dancer  anywhere!" 

228 


AT  CANTERBURY  229 

She  began  to  weep  at  the  thought  of  him,  and  wiped  tears  as 
big  as  millstones  from  her  eyes  with  a  corner  of  her  clean  white 
apron.  She  made  such  a  show  of  grief,  wailing  and  sighing  and 
wringing  her  hands,  that  the  Pardoner  might  well  have  been 
suspicious  of  her;  but  even  a  clever  rogue  can  sometimes  be 
taken  in. 

"You  make  as  much  noise  as  if  you  were  going  to  die  your- 
self," was  all  that  he  said,  however.  But  he  soon  began  to  be 
overcome  by  her  bright  eyes,  and  presently  made  her  a  fine  long 
speech,  saying  how  much  he  admired  her. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  she  answered  at  the  end  of  it.  "You  must 
be  a  very  great  and  noble  man  to  talk  so  grandly!  Sit  down, 
and  let  me  pour  you  out  some  drink." 

"Nay,  it  is  not  drink  that  I  want,"  he  said.  "I  am  hungry; 
I  have  had  nothing  to  eat  yet." 

"Nothing  to  eat!"  she  cried.     "Ah,  I  can  soon  put  that  right." 

With  that  she  ran  out  quickly  into  the  town,  and  brought  back 
a  pie,  all  hot,  and  set  it  before  him.  While  he  was  eating  it, 
they  conversed  together;  she  told  him  that  her  name  was  Kit, 
and  talked  to  him  so  artfully  that  the  silly  Pardoner  quite  lost 
his  head  in  admiration  of  her. 

He  looked  up  at  her  and  sighed,  and  muttered  to  himself, 
and  began  to  hum  a  love-song — "Now,  love,  do  thou  me  right." 

"Eat  and  be  merry,"  said  she,  not  wishing  to  encourage  him 
too  far.  "It  is  only  waste  of  time  to  wait  for  more  company. 
Why  are  you  so  low-spirited  and  dull?  Are  you  thinking  of 
your  lady-love  at  home?" 

"Nay,  my  dear,  it  is  for  you  only  that  I  am  sighing." 

"You  eat  your  breakfast;  time  enough  to  talk  of  love  pres- 
ently," said  she. 


230  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

So  the  Pardoner  finished  his  meal  in  silence.  When  he  had 
done,  he  rose,  and  threw  down  a  groat  by  way  of  payment. 

"What  is  this  for,  gentle  sir?"  asked  the  artful  tapstress. 
"You  shall  not  pay  a  penny  for  this  little  breakfast." 

The  Pardoner  vowed  that  he  would  pay  no  less  than  a  groat, 
good  payment  for  those  days. 

"It  is  too  much,"  she  said,  with  a  curtsey;  "but,  since  you  wish 
it,  I  will  put  the  money  in  my  purse,  lest  you  take  it  amiss  that 
I  refuse  your  kindness." 

"It  is  you  who  are  kind,"  said  the  Pardoner.  "If  you  had 
charged  me  strictly,  I  should  have  thought  you  unkind  and  dis- 
dainful and  likely  to  forget  me;  but  now  I  know  that  you  care 
for  me." 

"You  are  a  very  good  and  wise  man,"  said  Kit  admiringly. 
"I  am  moved  to  ask  you  a  favor:  I  wish  you  could  interpret  a 
dream  I  had  last  night.  I  thought  that  I  was  praying  in  church 
when  the  parson  and  his  clerk  came  up,  and  angrily  bade  me 
begone,  and  turned  me  out.  What  does  that  mean?" 

"May  it  fall  out  well  for  you!"  said  the  Pardoner  fervently. 
"I  will  interpret  it  as  well  as  I  can.  You  know  that  very  often 
dreams  go  by  opposites;  well,  yours  means  that  you  will  soon 
find  a  gay  lover  to  console  you.  Pluck  up  heart;  you  shall  have 
a  husband  who  will  wed  you  and  love  you  with  all  his  heart. 
The  parson  who  put  you  out  of  church  will  lead  you  in  again, 
and  help  you  with  all  his  might  and  main  to  marry.  That  is 
your  dream,  Kit:  how  do  you  like  it?" 

"Wonderfully  well,  i'  faith;  a  blessing  on  you  for  explaining 
it!" 

Then  the  Pardoner  took  his  leave  of  her,  and  rejoined  the 
other  pilgrims,  thinking  over  in  his  mind  various  plans  for  see- 


AT  CANTERBURY  231 

ing  more  of  her,  while  she,  on  the  other  hand,  was  anxious  to 
get  more  money  out  of  him  somehow  before  he  left  Canter- 
bury. 

The  pilgrims  were  now  all  ready  to  go  to  the  Cathedral  to 
pay  their  vows  and  make  offerings  of  silver  brooches  and  rings 
and  the  like,  according  to  their  means  and  their  piety;  and  they 
set  out  together  very  decorously.  At  the  church-door  a  dispute 
arose  as  to  who  ought  to  take  the  place  of  honor  and  enter  first ; 
but  it  was  settled  by  the  Knight  putting  forward  the  good  Parson, 
who  therefore  went  in  first,  followed  by  the  rest. 

The  Knight  and  the  better  disposed  of  the  company  went  at 
once  to  the  shrine  to  do  that  for  which  they  had  come ;  but  the 
Pardoner  and  the  Miller  and  some  others  of  the  more  disorderly 
pilgrims  clearly  had  not  learnt  the  way  to  conduct  themselves 
in  a  church.  They  loitered  along  like  stray  goats,  staring  at 
the  rich  gifts  stored  in  the  Cathedral,  and  peering  up  at  the 
stained-glass  windows  with  loud  exclamations  of  wonder  and 
surprise. 

"Look  at  the  man  in  that  window,"  said  the  Pardoner;  "he 
has  a  quarter-staff." 

"No,"  cried  Robin  Miller,  "it  is  a  spear;  you  can  see  the 
point." 

"Peace,"  said  the  Host;  "let  the  windows  alone.  Go  up  and 
give  your  offerings,  and  now  that  you  are  in  good  company  in 
a  sacred  place,  let  your  bad  manners  disappear  for  a  little." 

So  they  went  up  to  the  shrine,  some  of  them  still  audibly  dis- 
puting about  the  windows,  and  pretending  to  read  the  coats  of 
arms  emblazoned  on  them,  after  the  fashion  of  the  gentlefolk, 
whose  duty  it  was  to  have  a  good  knowledge  of  such  things. 

They  all  kissed  the  relics  one  after  the  other,  a  monk  standing 


232  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

by  and  explaining  everything  to  them;  and  after  the  service  they 
went  round  the  Cathedral,  and  saw  other  famous  treasures. 
When  they  had  seen  all  the  sights  it  was  getting  towards  noon  and 
nearly  dinner-time,  and  they  began  to  think  of  returning  to  the 
Chequer  of  the  Hoop.  But  first  they  had  to  buy  pilgrims'  tokens 
to  put  in  their  caps  and  show  as  a  sign  of  their  journey — little 
flasks  said  to  contain  water  mixed  with  the  tiniest  drop  of  blood 
of  the  martyred  Thomas  a  Becket,  or  stamped  images  of  his 
head,  or  the  small  bells  from  which  the  flower  called  "Canter- 
bury bell"  takes  its  name,  or  Canterbury  brooches,  and  the  like. 

The  Miller,  always  a  dishonest  knave,  contrived  to  fill  his 
cloak  with  a  number  of  tokens  which  he  stole  from  those  who 
were  selling  them ;  and  as  soon  as  possible  he  and  the  Pardoner 
divided  the  spoils,  and  put  them  in  their  pouches,  without  any- 
one seeing  them,  as  they  thought. 

Suddenly  the  Miller  was  startled  to  hear  a  voice  whispering 
in  his  ear,  "I  want  half." 

He  looked  round,  and  saw  the  Summoner.  "Hush!"  he  said, 
in  terror;  "do  not  speak  so  loud.  Look  at  our  friend  the  ras- 
cally Friar,  how  he  is  lowering  at  us  under  his  hood!  It  must 
indeed  be  a  secret  that  he  would  not  find  out,  bad  luck  to  him!" 

"Amen  to  that!"  said  the  Summoner.  "You  heard  the  tale 
he  told  about  a  Summoner.  If  we  tell  more  stories  on  the  way 
home,  I  will  have  no  mercy  on  him.  But  I  want  my  share  in 
your  brooches,  or  I  will  betray  you." 

The  Miller  had  to  give  up  part  of  his  winnings,  which  he  did 
with  an  ill  grace;  and  they  all  went  on  proudly  displaying  their 
new  tokens  (the  honest  ones,  at  least)  till  they  reached  their  inn, 
where  basins  were  brought,  and  they  washed  in  due  order  before 
sitting  down  to  dinner. 


AT  CANTERBURY  233 

The  Host  was  standing  for  a  few  moments  in  the  doorway  of 
the  house,  when  a  stranger  came  riding  up  on  a  tall  lean  horse 
with  a  rusty  bridle;  he  was  wearing  a  black  cloak  instead  of  the 
more  usual  green  one,  and  seemed  thin  and  worn. 

"Ho!  Sir  Dominic,  Sir  Clement,  or  whatever  you  call  your- 
self!" cried  the  noisy  Host,  bluff  and  headstrong  as  ever,  "you 
are  welcome  into  Kent,  even  though  your  hood  is  threadbare  and 
your  bridle  and  bit  poor  ones,  without  bells  or  trappings.  I 
pray  you  tell  me  your  name  and  whence  you  come,  and  why 
you  look  so  pale  and  worn." 

"My  name  is  John  Lydgate,"  he  answered,  "and  I  am  a  monk 
of  Bury,  nearly  fifty  years  of  age.  I  came  hither  as  a  pilgrim 
for  the  good  of  my  health,  and  to  return  thanks  to  God  for  the 
preservation  of  it.  I  am  nowise  ashamed  of  myself  or  my 


name." 


The  Host  thanked  him  for  his  answer,  and  asked  him  to  have 
dinner  with  the  company  from  Southwark.  "You  are  all  alone," 
he  said;  "join  us,  and  eat  your  fill  of  pudding  and  haggis,  and, 
if  you  will,  be  our  companion  on  our  return  to-morrow.  If  you 
will  go  with  us,  do  not  trouble  about  waking  yourself  early  in 
the  morning,  when  you  go  to  bed ;  I  will  be  sure  to  call  all  my 
flock  in  good  time.  That  is  my  business,  for  you  must  know  that 
everyone  here  obeys  me  and  dares  not  gainsay  me ;  and  we  have 
made  a  custom  of  telling  tales  on  the  journey,  so  that  if  you  join 
us  when  we  set  out,  you  too  must  take  your  part." 

Lydgate  agreed,  and  joined  the  rest  at  their  meal,  which  was 
an  exceedingly  merry  one.  The  table  was  a  large  board  set 
on  trestles,  well  spread  with  food  and  drink.  The  Squire,  ac- 
cording to  the  usual  custom,  carved  before  his  father,  and  did 
it  very  dextrously.  The  Franklin  thoroughly  enjoyed  his  food, 


234  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

and  the  Monk's  eyes  sparkled  as  he  did  his  share  in  the  feasting. 
The  Prioress  was  noticeable  for  her  delicate  way  of  eating;  she 
was  very  clean  and  dainty  over  it — not  a  very  common  thing  in 
those  days,  when  there  were  no  knives  and  forks,  and  people 
used  their  fingers  for  their  food.  They  ate  off  trenchers — large, 
flat  plates  of  bread  which  could  be  themselves  eaten  or  bestowed 
on  the  poor  when  done  with — and  the  scraps  were  thrown  freely 
to  the  dogs  hanging  about  in  expectation  of  them. 

For  a  little  while  the  pilgrims  were  rather  silent,  being,  per- 
haps, too  busy  to  talk;  but  very  soon  their  spirits  became  more 
lively,  and  they  made  good  cheer.  The  Host  at  length  thought 
it  time  to  speak. 

"I  thank  you  all,  sirs,"  he  said,  "for  being  so  courteous  and 
obedient  on  the  road  to  this  town;  you  have  been  very  good 
subjects  to  me.  But  you  must  not  forget  that  we  have  to  tell 
tales  on  the  way  back." 

"And  you,  too,  must  remember,  Host,  that  we  are  all  to  sup 
with  you  at  Southwark,"  cried  the  Friar.  "That  is  true,  is  it 
not,  Sir  Knight?'7 

"True  enough,"  the  Host  at  once  agreed.  "No  witnesses  to 
that  are  needed:  you  hold  to  your  promise,  I  to  mine." 

"Well  said,  Host!"  said  the  Knight.    "I  am  satisfied." 

"Now  that  we  have  all  dined,"  continued  the  Host,  "let  us 
amuse  ourselves  till  it  is  time  for  supper.  We  must  go  to  bed 
early  to-night,  to  start  in  good  time  to-morrow." 

They  rose  from  the  table,  and  all  who  had  fresh  clothes  witl 
them  put  them  on,  and  then  they  scattered  to  various  plac< 
The  Knight  and  his  son  the  Squire,  with  a  few  others,  went 
look  at  the  fortifications  of  Canterbury.    The  Knight  carefully 


AT  CANTERBURY  235 

explained  everything  to  his  son,  and  pointed  out  the  loopholes 
and  points  of  vantage  in  the  wall;  and  the  Squire  listened,  and 
took  it  all  in,  for,  though  his  thoughts  still  ran  on  his  lady-love, 
he  was  interested  and  skilled  in  everything  connected  with  war 
and  arms. 

As  they  were  walking  about,  the  Clerk  took  occasion  to  speak 
to  the  Summoner  about  his  quarrel  with  the  Friar. 

"You  ought  not  to  be  offended,"  said  he.  "All  men  and  all 
trades  are  not  perfect.  There  is  a  great  deal  to  be  said  for  both 
of  you ;  and,  besides,  if  the  Friar  knows  the  evils  about  which 
he  speaks,  he  is  therefore  able  to  avoid  them." 

"What  a  good  thing  it  is  to  be  a  Clerk!"  said  the  Knight  slyly; 
"he  can  favor  both  sides  alike." 

As  for  the  other  pilgrims,  the  Monk  had  gone  off  with  the 
Parson  and  the  Friar  to  visit  an  acquaintance  of  his  who  had 
long  ago  asked  him  to  come  and  see  him  at  Canterbury.  The 
Wife  of  Bath,  on  the  other  hand,  was  so  weary  that  she  had  no 
wish  for  further  wanderings,  and  she  went  up  to  the  Prioress  and 
took  her  by  the  hand,  saying,  "Madam,  will  you  walk  with  me  in 
the  inn  garden  to  look  at  the  flowers?  Afterwards  we  can  talk 
to  the  mistress  of  the  house  in  her  parlor." 

So  they  went  into  the  garden,  which  was  pleasant  and  neatly 
kept,  and  there  they  talked  and  amused  themselves  all  the  after- 
noon. And  now,  out  of  all  the  pilgrims,  only  the  Pardoner  was 
left  in  the  inn,  and  he  had  stayed  behind  on  purpose.  He  went 
straight  to  the  taproom  as  soon  as  the  others  were  out  of  the  way, 
and  found  Kit  lying  down. 

She  pretended  at  first  not  to  see  him,  and  then  started  up  as  if 
angry. 


236  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"You  should  have  coughed  when  you  came  in,"  she  cried, 
"to  let  me  know  that  you  were  coming.  Where  are  your  man- 
ners?" 

"Never  mind,  Kit,"  answered  the  Pardoner.  "How  have  you 
been  since  I  saw  you  last?  It  would  go  to  my  heart  if  you  had 
not  been  well." 

"Ah,  you  clever  men!"  sighed  Kit.  "By  a  mere  look  you  can 
make  us  do  as  you  please!" 

They  went  on  talking,  and  very  soon  the  Pardoner  told  her 
why  he  had  come.  He  wanted  her  to  have  supper  with  him  that 
evening  privately,  and  he  left  her  his  purse  to  provide  for  it. 
He  was  rather  reluctant  to  part  with  his  money,  but  consoled 
himself  with  the  thought  that  very  likely  he  could  pick  her 
pocket  and  steal  it  back  again.  Then  he  left  her,  and  soon  found 
some  of  the  other  pilgrims,  whom  he  joined  without  saying 
where  he  had  been. 

It  was  a  very  cheerful  company  that  sat  down  to  supper  that 
night.  The  Knight  was  appointed  by  the  Host  marshal  of  the 
hall,  and  it  was  his  duty  to  see  that  the  pilgrims  sat  down  at  table 
in  their  proper  rank,  without  undue  noise  or  brawling.  They 
ate  a  good,  hearty  meal,  and  after  it  most  of  them  went  to  bed. 
But  the  Miller  and  the  Cook  and  a  few  others  sat  up  late  drink- 
ing the  good  ale  of  the  inn,  and  the  Pardoner  thought  that  he 
would  never  be  able  to  get  away  to  his  own  supper;  for  he  had 
sat  down  and  eaten  a  little  with  the  rest  to  avoid  any  awkward 
questions. 

He  began  to  sing  at  length,  hoping  that  Kit  would  hear  his 
merry  note  and  not  grow  impatient.  But  his  friend  the  Sum- 
moner,  and  the  Reeve,  the  Yeoman,  and  the  Manciple  as  well, 
all  joined  in,  and  their  merriment  increased  into  an  uproar,  un- 


AT  CANTERBURY  237 

til  at  length  the  Host  and  the  Merchant  came  down  and  hurried 
them  all  off  to  bed. 

And  now  at  last  the  Pardoner  managed  to  slip  away  by  hid- 
ing himself  behind  a  chest  till  the  lights  were  out,  the  others 
thinking  that  he  had  gone  to  bed.  Then  he  made  his  way  in 
the  dark  to  the  tapstress's  room ;  he  could  see  a  light  under  the 
door,  and  longed  for  the  good  supper  which  was  awaiting  him 
within. 

But  Kit  had  tricked  him,  as  she  had  intended  all  along.  His 
supper  was  already  being  eaten  by  her  and  two  of  her  friends — 
her  real  lover  and  Jack  the  ostler — and  they  were  making  merry 
over  a  fine  goose  which  the  Pardoner's  money  had  bought.  Kit 
had  told  the  others  that  the  Pardoner  might  presently  appear. 
"But  if  he  comes  up  here  making  a  noise,"  she  added,  "I  pray 
you  dub  him  a  knight  with  your  cudgel." 

"I  will  give  him  a  supper  he  will  not  want  to  have  again," 
said  the  ostler. 

The  Pardoner  came  groping  upstairs  in  the  dark,  and  tried  to 
open  the  door,  but  found  it  shut.  Then  he  fell  to  making  a 
noise  like  the  whining  of  a  dog,  to  let  Kit  know  that  he  was  there. 
A  man's  voice  shouted  to  him  from  inside  to  go  away.  He 
guessed  by  the  voice  that  something  had  gone  amiss  with  his 
scheme  and  knocked  again,  vowing  vengeance  secretly  the  while 
if  he  had  been  cheated. 

"What  dog  is  that  whining?"  said  Kit's  lover,  pretending  not 
to  understand  the  strange  noises,  and  enjoying  his  meal. 

"It  is  that  false  thief  of  a  Pardoner,"  said  the  tapstress. 

"I  am  no  thief,"  cried  the  Pardoner  outside.  "Give  me  my 
staff ;  I  left  it  in  this  room."  He  meant  to  get  inside  by  an  ex- 
cuse which  would  serve. 


238  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"Go  to  bed  quietly,"  said  the  lover.  Then  he  opened  the 
door  quickly,  and  struck  at  the  Pardoner  with  his  staff,  hitting 
him  two  great  blows  on  the  forehead  and  the  back. 

"Who  is  that?"  called  out  Jack  Ostler,  pretending  to  hear  the 
noise  for  the  first  time. 

"There  is  a  thief  here,"  answered  the  other. 

"A  thief?  Well  done!  Have  you  caught  him?  Break  his 
bones  if  you  have.  I  will  hold  the  door  so  that  he  will  not  get 


out." 


"If  we  had  a  light,  we  might  catch  him,"  said  Kit's  lover,  for 
the  Pardoner  had  slipped  away  in  the  dark. 

"Yes,  but  we  must  not  wake  the  mistress ;  she  would  be  terribly 
angry,"  answered  the  ostler.  "You  go  and  look  for  him;  he 
cannot  have  gone  far.  Try  the  dust-heap." 

But  the  other  did  not  want  to  leave  the  ostler  alone  with  Kit 
and  the  supper. 

"No,  you  go,"  he  replied;  "you  know  the  way  better  than 
I." 

"No,  you  hit  him ;  it  is  none  of  my  business.  But  look,  let  us 
(both  go — you  one  side  of  the  house,  I  the  other.  Mind  the 
pots  and  pans  which  are  on  your  side." 

"Oho!"  thought  the  Pardoner,  overhearing  this — for  he  had 
not  gone  far,  and  dared  not  seek  his  own  room,  for  fear  of 
jrousing  the  other  pilgrims  who  shared  it  with  him — "are  there 
pots  and  pans  about?  It  is  well  to  know  that." 

He  groped  about,  and  soon  found  a  huge  ladle.  Presently 
Kit's  lover  came  stealing  along  in  the  dark.  The  Pardoner 
swung  his  ladle  round,  and  hit  him  such  a  blow  on  the  nose  that 
his  eyes  watered  for  a  week  afterwards.  The  ostler  heard  the 


AT  CANTERBURY  239 

noise,  and  came  in  a  hurry  to  help  his  friend ;  but  he  trod  on  the 
edge  of  a  pan,  which  tilted  up  and  broke  his  shin. 

"By  St.  Amyas!"  he  muttered,  as  loud  as  he  dared,  "I  will  not 
spare  the  rogue  when  I  catch  him!" 

"Where  is  the  thief?"  asked  the  other. 

"I  know  not,"  answered  the  ostler.     "How  shall  we  find  him?" 

They  searched  a  little  longer,  but  were  unsuccessful.  Hap- 
pily for  the  Pardoner,  there  was  no  moon,  and  the  house  was 
very  dark. 

"Let  us  go  to  bed,"  said  the  tapstress's  lover  at  length.  "Make 
the  gate  fast.  iWe  can  catch  him  to-morrow;  besides,  I  hit  him 
twice." 

"Very  well,"  answered  the  ostler;  and  they  went  to  bed,  leav- 
ing the  Pardoner  in  peace.  But  he  dared  not  go  upstairs  again, 
for  fear  of  rousing  the  whole  house  and  being  suspected  of  theft. 
His  face  was  bleeding  and  his  back  very  sore  from  the  blows  he 
had  received,  and  he  was  very  hungry  and  tired.  He  wandered 
about  trying  to  find  some  safe  place  to  lie  down  for  the  night, 
and  at  length  came  upon  the  dog-kennel,  where  a  huge  Welsh 
dog  was  kept.  He  crept  in,  hoping  that  the  beast  would  let  him 
lie  quietly  there;  but  the  dog  was  a  fierce,  bad-tempered  brute, 
and  in  spite  of  a  big  log  which  was  tied  to  him  to  keep  him  still, 
he  flew  at  the  Pardoner,  and  bit  him  in  the  thigh.  However, 
the  poor  man  stayed  where  he  was,  only  moving  a  little  farther 
from  the  dog;  and  there  he  spent  a  most  uncomfortable  night. 


THE  JOURNEY  HOME 
JOHN  LYDGATE'S  TALE 

THE  next  morning  the  Host's  rallying  cry  was  heard 
early,  and  the  Pardoner,  you  may  be  sure,  was  not  late 
in  rising.  He  got  out  of  the  kennel,  and  managed  to 
wash  and  make  himself  tidy  at  the  pump  without  being  seen; 
he  joined  the  rest  as  though  nothing  had  happened,  though  he 
had  a  terrible  headache,  and  his  notes,  when  he  sang,  were  weak 
and  low.  As  they  left  the  inn,  he  got  well  into  the  middle  of 
the  company,  and  kept  his  face  turned  away  from  the  ostler, 
who  was  on  the  watch;  and  so  he  got  away  safely,  with  only  the 
loss  of  his  purse  and  a  few  bruises. 

It  was  a  lovely  spring  morning  when  the  pilgrims  rode  away 
from  the  Chequer  of  the  Hoop.  Most  of  them  were  in  the  high- 
est spirits,  but  the  Pardoner  was  very  uneasy  till  they  had  passed 
the  city  gates.  He  might  have  been  sure  that  Kit  and  her  friends 
would  be  quite  satisfied  with  merely  keeping  his  purse,  but  he 
was  not  over-brave,  and  fancied  that  everyone  in  the  inn  was 
still  looking  for  him. 

The  sun  was  shining,  and  the  birds  were  singing  merrily  as 
they  set  out.  They  had  hardly  ridden  a  bowshot  beyond  the 
walls  of  Canterbury  when  Harry  Bailly  leaned  forward  and 
caught  at  Lydgate's  bridle,  calling  on  the  new  member  of  the 

company  for  the  first  tale  of  the  return  journey. 

240 


JOHN  LYDGATE'S  TALE  241 

"Now,  Master  John,"  he  cried,  "make  merry  and  tell  us  a 
story — no  sermon,  but  a  tale  of  mirth  and  gladness." 

Lydgate  complied  a  little  unwillingly. 

"Sirs,"  said  he,  "since  you  have  let  me  join  you,  and  your 
ruler,  the  Host,  bids  me  do  my  duty  and  give  you  a  tale,  I  will 
tell  you  one  as  well  as  my  poor  wit  will  let  me.  It  shall  be 
about  the  royal  city  of  Thebes,  and  how  it  was  destroyed  in  the 
days  when  Greece  was  filled  with  famous  heroes  and  warlike 
kings." 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THEBES 

I.— EDIPPUS  THE  PARRICIDE 

THE  mighty  town  of  Thebes  was  begun  and  built  in  times 
of  great  antiquity.  Some  say  that  it  was  the  handiwork 
of  the  good  King  Amphion,  and  that  he  wrought  it  only 
by  the  power  of  his  music,  for  he  played  so  sweetly  and  harmoni- 
ously upon  his  harp  that  the  stones  moved  of  themselves,  and  the 
walls  were  raised  without  the  craft  of  any  man's  hand.  But 
others  aver  that  this  story  means  nothing  more  than  that  Am- 
phion  was  very  eloquent  and  smooth-tongued,  so  that  the  'song' 
of  his  fair  and  gentle  speech,  as  one  might  say,  built  the  city  by 
persuading  neighboring  kings  to  lend  him  aid.  And  that  may 
well  be  true,  for  by  humble  and  courteous  words  a  prince  can 
win  love  from  the  hearts  of  his  people  more  readily  than  by 
gold  or  pride  or  tyranny. 

"There  are  yet  others  who  say  that  long  before  Amphion  came 
King  Cadmus  built  the  city,  obtaining  the  land  by  bargaining  for 
as  much  earth  as  a  bull's  hide  would  enclose ;  for  he  took  a  hide, 
and  cut  it  into  thin  strips,  which,  when  they  were  laid  end  to 
end,  enclosed  a  space  great  enough  for  a  city.  And  they  say  that 
the  name  of  the  whole  country  in  which  Thebes  is — to  wit, 
Boeotia — arose  from  this  device  of  its  first  king.*  Cadmus, 
however  (so  this  story  runs),  could  not  keep  his  kingdom,  for 
Amphion  came  and,  by  his  valor,  drove  him  out. 

"But  all  this  is  none  of  my  story.     You  will  find  the  whole 

*  Because  the  name  "Boeotia"  resembles  the  Greek  word  for  a  bull. 

242 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THEBES  243 

matter  in  books  written  by  learned  clerks,  and  to  them  I  leave  it, 
for  my  purpose  is  to  tell  of  the  destruction  of  Thebes  many 
generations  after  its  foundation. 

"After  the  reign  of  Amphion,  whether  he  founded  Thebes 
or  not,  the  kingdom  was  handed  down  from  father  to  son,  one 
after  another,  in  an  unbroken  line,  and  the  city  grew  continually 
more  glorious  and  powerful  and  proud,  until  there  came  to  the 
throne  a  king  named  Lai'us ;  and  in  his  day  men  might  have  seen, 
had  they  known  it,  the  first  signs  of  the  downfall  of  Thebes. 

"Laius  and  his  wife  Jocasta  reigned  wisely  and  prosperously, 
but  for  many  a  long  year  they  had  no  son.  At  length,  however, 
Laius  did  sacrifice  humbly  to  the  gods  Apollo  and  Jupiter,  and 
to  the  three  goddesses  Pallas  and  Juno  and  Diana.  His  prayer 
was  granted,  and  a  son  was  born.  But  it  was  thought  necessary 
at  the  birth  of  the  child  to  consult  all  the  philosophers  and  wise 
men  and  magicians,  that  they  might  by  their  arts  foretell  the 
boy's  fate ;  and  when  these  augurs  and  diviners  had  cast  his  horo- 
scope and  made  their  calculations,  they  found  at  last  that  the 
child,  if  he  lived,  was  fated  to  kill  his  own  father  Laius;  nor 
was  there  any  escape  from  this  doom. 

"King  La'ius,  when  he  heard  this  dread  prophecy,  was  bowed 
down  with  grief  and  fear;  he  knew  not  how  to  provide  against 
the  terrible  death  which  was  to  come  upon  him  by  the  hands  of 
his  own  son,  and  at  length  he  made  up  his  mind  to  do  what  was 
wont  to  be  done  in  those  days  with  deformed  or  sickly  children 
who  would  be  a  trouble  to  rear — to  take  the  babe  and  leave  him 
all  helpless  and  alone  in  some  wild  spot  where  either  he  would 
soon  die  of  cold  and  hunger  or  the  wild  beasts  would  devour 
him. 

"Lams  could  find  no  other  way  to  save  his  own  life  and  the 


244  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

honor  of  his  kingdom,  and  the  cruel  deed  was  carried  out.  The 
boy  was  taken  from  Jocasta,  who  obeyed  the  king's  command 
with  woeful  heart  and  piteous  looks,  and  he  was  carried  without 
delay  to  a  forest  not  very  far  away,  and  there  left  exposed.  But 
at  the  last  the  men  who  had  charge  of  the  matter,  moved  by  the 
beauty  of  the  little  babe,  pierced  his  feet,  and  tied  him  by  a 
cord  put  through  the  wounds  to  a  bough  of  a  tree,  beyond  the 
reach  of  wild  beasts ;  for  they  might  not  slay  him  outright,  and 
they  thought  that  thus  he  would  either  die  more  speedily  or  per- 
haps be  found  by  some  stranger  before  any  animal  could  succeed 
in  reaching  him. 

"It  fell  out  as  they  hoped.  King  Polibon  of  Arcadia  chanced 
to  come  that  way  while  hunting,  and  his  attendants  heard  the 
child's  cries.  They  cut  the  thongs  which  bound  him,  and 
brought  him  before  the  king,  who  took  him  home  to  Arcadia. 
There  the  boy  was  brought  up  at  the  king's  Court,  and  the  name 
Edippus,  or  Swollenfoot,  was  given  to  him,  because  the  cords 
had  injured  his  feet  and  made  him  lame. 

"Edippus  was  treated  as  the  King's  heir,  for  Polibon  had  no 
son  of  his  own,  and  as  he  grew  up  he  became  proud  and  over- 
bearing, not  knowing  that  he  was  an  outcast  whose  lineage  no 
man  could  discover,  but  thinking  that  he  was  really  the  offspring 
of  the  great  King  of  Arcadia.  But  one  day  he  quarreled  fiercely 
with  a  companion,  who  at  length  turned  on  him  and  upbraided 
him. 

"  What  reason  have  you  to  be  so  proud,  Edippus?'  he  asked 
scornfully.  'You  act  as  though  you  were  lord  and  master  of 
us  all,  and  descended  of  royal  blood,  whereas  you  are  in  truth  no 
kin  to  Polibon  at  all,  but  only  a  babe  unknown,  found  in  a  forest 
long  years  ago.' 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THEBES  245 

"Edippus  turned  pale,  and  was  so  amazed  that  he  could  give 
no  answer,  for  he  had  never  yet  been  told  the  true  tale  of  his 
birth.  He  went  to  the  King,  and  spoke  with  him  secretly,  beg- 
ging him  to  tell  him  whose  son  he  was.  Polibon  at  first,  out  of 
the  kindness  of  his  heart,  tried  to  evade  the  questions,  but 
Edippus  vowed  that  if  he  were  not  told  he  would  straightway 
go  and  roam  over  all  the  world  till  he  discovered  the  truth. 
And  at  length  Polibon  told  all  that  he  knew — how  Edippus  was 
found  abandoned  and  tied  by  the  feet  to  a  tree,  with  no  sign  or 
mark  to  show  whose  son  he  was,  or  why  he  was  treated  thus. 

"When  Edippus  heard  this  story  he  could  no  longer  bear  to 
stay  in  Arcadia,  but  longed  to  go  forth  and  learn  more.  Polibon 
prayed  him  to  stay,  and  succeed  to  the  kingdom  at  his  death,  but 
all  in  vain.  Edippus  left  him,  and  rushed  to  the  temple  of 
Apollo  to  ask  how  he  should  unravel  the  secret  of  his  birth. 

"In  the  temple  of  Apollo  there  was  set  a  statue  of  the  god, 
mounted  in  a  chariot  of  gold,  fiery  bright  and  glistening,  and 
within  this  statue  dwelt  an  unclean  spirit,  which  by  false  and 
wicked  arts  gave  cruel  answers  to  all  prayers.  This  spirit  it  was 
that  drove  Edippus  upon  his  fate,  for  when  he  had  prayed  and 
done  the  customary  rites  he  was  bidden  by  the  spirit  in  a  terrible 
voice  to  go  to  Thebes ;  there  he  would  learn  for  certain  what 
was  his  lineage. 

"Edippus  did  as  he  was  told.  He  set  out  for  Thebes  at  once, 
and  journeyed  day  after  day  till  he  came  to  a  rich  castle  named 
Pilotes,  not  far  from  Thebes.  There  King  Laius  chanced  to  be 
holding  a  tournament  with  his  own  knights  and  any  others  who 
wished  to  throw  down  or  take  up  a  challenge.  Edippus  was 
willing  enough  to  do  battle,  and  there,  at  the  gate  of  the  lists,  in 
a  great  press  of  men,  he  unwittingly  slew  Laius,  his  own  father, 


246  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

and  thus  began  the  woes  which  ended  in  the  destruction  of  the 
great  city  of  Thebes. 

"Edippus  knew  that  he  had  killed  the  king,  but  not  that  it 
was  his  own  father;  and  though  no  one  could  tell  for  certain, 
except  Edippus  himself,  whose  hand  it  was  that  dealt  the  blow 
which  slew  Lams,  he  deemed  it  well  to  withdraw  himself,  and 
remain  hidden  for  a  time  until  the  anger  of  the  people  at  the 
death  of  their  king  should  have  abated.  So  while  the  Thebans 
held  solemn  funeral  rites,  and  burnt  the  body  of  Laius  according 
to  custom,  and  built  him  a  rich  sepulcher,  Edippus  was  going 
thence  with  all  speed;  and  being  a  stranger  to  that  country,  in  a 
little  time  he  had  lost  himself  in  a  wild  waste  desert  that  lay  near 
a  mountain  upon  the  sea-coast. 

"In  this  place  there  was  the  lair  of  a  terrible  monster  called 
the  Sphinx,  which  had  the  head  and  face  of  a  maiden,  but  the 
body  and  feet  of  a  fierce  lion.  This  Sphinx  ravaged  all  the 
country  round  Thebes  and  struck  terror  into  the  city,  for  when- 
ever a  man  passed  it  came  down  from  its  mountain  lair  and  set 
him  a  riddle  to  answer,  and  if  the  man  could  not  find  the  answer 
the  Sphinx  tore  him  in  pieces. 

"Edippus  knew  nothing  of  this.  Suddenly  as  he  rode  by  the 
mountain  he  was  aware  of  the  monster  rushing  down  upon  him. 

"  'It  is  a  great  joy  to  me,'  said  the  Sphinx,  for  she  could  speak 
like  any  other  human  being,  'that  you  have  come  to  my  home 
to  try  your  skill.  Be  wise  and  wary,  and  win  the  prize,  for  life 
and  death  are  staked  between  us.' 

"Then  the  monster  set  Edippus  this  riddle: 

"  'There  is  a  beast  upon  the  earth 
Which  goes  on  four  legs  at  its  birth; 
But  as  it  grows  in  years  and  might 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THEBES  247 

It  walks  and  stands  on  two  upright, 

And  as  it  ends  its  little  day 

On  three.     What  beast  is  this,  I  pray.' 

"Edippus  set  his  wits  to  work,  and  thought  deeply  over  thu 
riddle,  and  at  length  gave  this  answer: 

"  'This  beast  is  man,  who  at  his  birth 
Goes  crawling  four-legged  on  the  earth; 
But  as  he  grows  in  years  and  might 
He  walks  and  stands  on  two  upright; 
While  as  he  ends  his  little  day 
A  staff  helps  two-legs  on  his  way/ 

"The  monster  was  all  amazed  to  find  a  man  skillful  enough  to 
answer  her  cunning  question,  and  as  she  stood  dismayed  and  dis- 
consolate Edippus  drew  his  sword  and  smote  off  her  head. 

"The  news  soon  spread  over  the  land  that  the  Sphinx  was  slain, 
and  when  Edippus,  according  to  his  plan,  returned  to  Thebes,  it 
became  known  that  it  was  he  who  killed  the  monster.  He  was 
welcomed  royally,  and  when  the  people  saw  that  he  was  a  seemly 
knight,  well-favored  in  the  sight  of  all  men,  they  were  fain  to 
make  him  their  king,  for  Laius  had  left  no  son  behind  him  that 
anyone  knew  of.  The  lords  of  Thebes  held  a  parliament,  and 
set  to  work  to  treat  with  the  Queen  Jocasta  to  know  if  she  would 
continue  to  reign,  and  wed  the  stranger-knight  who  had  deliv- 
ered them  from  the  Sphinx. 

"Jocasta  consented,  and  great  preparations  were  made  for 
the  marriage  ceremony.  But  one  day,  as  Edippus  talked  with 
the  queen,  he  perceived  that  she  had  some  great  sorrow  hidden 
secretly  in  her  heart,  and  he  asked  her  what  it  was. 

"She  sighed  and  turned  away.    At  last  she  spoke  sadly:    SMy 


248  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

lord,'  she  said,  'now  that  Laius,  my  king,  is  dead  and  has  left 
no  heir,  I  am  filled  with  sad  memories  of  my  dear  son  who  should 
have  been  reigning  now.'  And  she  told  him  how  her  only  son 
had  been  left  to  die  in  the  wilds  by  reason  of  the  prophecy  which 
said  that  he  should  kill  his  own  father. 

"At  that  Edippus  gave  a  great  cry,  and  fell  a-trembling.  He 
knew  that  he,  too,  had  been  exposed  as  this  child  was,  and  now 
he  knew  also  that  he  had  taken  his  father's  life  in  the  tourna- 
ment at  Pilotes.  Jocasta  saw  shame  and  terror  rising  in  his 
face,  and  asked  him  what  ailed  him ;  and  at  length  he  burst  out 
into  the  whole  story,  saying  that  the  oracle  had  truly  told  him 
that  he  should  discover  his  lineage  at  Thebes. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  all  that  passed  between  these  two  when  they 
learnt  thus  the  awful  doom  that  had  befallen  them,  nor  will  I 
repeat  to  you  how  Edippus  very  soon,  bowed  down  with  grief, 
fell  into  a  kind  of  madness,  and  how  his  sons  afterwards  despised 
him  and  mocked  him,  until  at  length,  when  he  was  become  an  old 
man,  in  despair  and  rage  he  plucked  out  his  own  eyes,  and  they 
set  upon  him  and  killed  him. 

"Thus  Edippus  died,  and  his  sons  Ethiocles  and  Polimite  took 
the  kingdom ;  and  now  the  doom  of  Thebes  was  coming  swiftly 
upon  the  city,  as  I  will  show  you  when  we  get  to  the  other  side 
of  this  little  valley." 

Lydgate  broke  off  his  tale  here,  as  the  pilgrims  were  going 
downhill  into  Boughton-under-Blean.  At  the  village  they 
stopped  and  rested,  and  about  nine  o'clock  took  the  road  again. 
The  sun  was  well  up  in  the  heavens  by  now,  shining  like  silver 
through  the  little  pearls  of  dew  on  the  green  leaves,  and  a  soft 
west  wind  made  the  air  fresh  and  cool  for  the  pilgrims  as  they 
listened  to  the  monk  of  Bury  continuing  his  tale. 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THEBES  249 

II.— THE  TREACHERY  OF  ETHIOCLES 

"When  Edippus  was  dead  his  sons  Ethiocles  and  Polimite 
fell  out  as  to  who  should  succeed  him,  and  neither  would  abate 
one  jot  of  his  claims,  though  all  the  lords  and  commons  of  the 
land  strove  to  assuage  their  quarrel.  At  length,  however,  peace 
was  made  between  them  on  condition  that  each  should  reign  in 
turn  for  a  year.  While  one  was  king  the  other  could  go  where 
he  pleased,  so  as  he  came  not  to  Thebes.  With  this  they  were 
fain  to  be  content,  and  Ethiocles  began  to  reign  for  the  first 
year,  he  being  the  elder  of  the  two. 

"Polimite  took  his  way  out  of  Thebes  all  alone,  armed  from 
head  to  foot,  and  riding  a  royal  steed.  He  went  by  byways  and 
secret  paths,  for  he  feared  that  his  brother  Ethiocles,  now  that 
he  was  in  power,  might  treacherously  waylay  and  slay  him.  As 
he  rode  in  a  wild  forest  by  the  sea,  full  of  hills  and  high  moun- 
tains and  cruel  rocks,  where  fierce  beasts  lay  hid,  a  great  storm 
suddenly  came  on;  the  sea  roared,  a  wind  and  tempest  arose,  and 
the  rain  beat  down  mercilessly,  and  Polimite,  uncertain  of  his 
way  in  that  deserted  land,  terrified,  too,  by  the  beasts  which, 
maddened  by  the  storm,  were  raging  all  around  him,  spurred  his 
horse  on  recklessly,  and  rode  without  knowing  whither  until 
at  last  he  came  to  the  gate  of  a  great  city,  where  he  drew 
rein. 

"The  city  to  which  he  had  come  thus  blindly  was  Argos,  and 
its  king  at  this  time  Adrastus,  son  of  Cholon,  the  wisest  and  best 
king  in  all  Greece.  He  had  no  son,  but  two  daughters,  named 
Argive  and  Deiphile,  and  his  hope  was  that  he  should  win  for 
them  noble  husbands  who  would  strengthen  his  kingdom  and 
rule  when  he  was  dead.  But  of  late  he  had  been  troubled  by  a 


250  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

strange  dream,  in  which  he  seemed  to  see  his  daughters  wedded 
to  a  wild  boar  and  a  fierce  lion  both  on  one  day. 

"Polimite,  as  I  have  told,  came  to  the  gate  of  Argos,  and  rode 
through  the  town  till  he  came  to  the  entrance  of  the  king's  pal- 
ace, a  great  arched  portal  built  of  huge  stones,  whereon  were 
written  the  dooms  or  laws  decreed  by  the  king.  The  porter  was 
asleep,  and  Polimite  could  not  wake  him  because  of  the  howling 
of  the  tempest;  so  he  alighted  from  his  steed  and  lay  down  there 
in  the  porch  and  slept. 

"While  he  slept  there  came  to  the  palace  gate  yet  another 
knight  seeking  refuge  from  the  storm.  The  new-comer's  name 
was  Tideus,  son  of  the  King  of  Callidoine,  a  most  valorous, 
gentle,  and  courteous  knight.  He  was  exiled  from  his  country 
because  he  had  slain  his  brother  Menelippe  by  letting  an  arrow 
slip  carelessly  from  his  bow. 

"Tideus  strode  into  the  porch  of  the  gate  as  Polimite  had 
done. 

"But  the  noise  of  his  entrance  woke  Polimite,  who  started  up 
fiercely,  and  cried  out  to  know  who  it  was. 

"  'I  am  driven  here  by  the  stress  of  the  storm  and  the  night,' 
answered  Tideus  humbly  and  graciously.  'I  come  here  because 
I  can  go  nowhere  else.  I  have  no  evil  intent,  and  mean  you  no 
harm.' 

"But  Polimite  fell  into  a  rage. 

"  'You  shall  not  abide  here!'  he  cried  angrily.  'I  was  here 
before  you,  and  I  will  keep  this  lodging  all  night  for  all  that 
you  can  do.' 

"  'It  is  not  courteous,  but  rather  it  is  ungentle,  to  keep  me  out,' 
Tideus  replied,  showing  no  resentment  at  Polimite's  rough 
words.  'You  seem  a  knight  of  gentle  birth,  and  I  think  that 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THEBES  251 

you  have  no  more  right  to  this  place  for  a  lodging  than  I.  It 
can  do  you  no  hurt  to  let  me  shelter  here.' 

"But  fair  words  were  of  no  avail.  The  more  gently  Tideus 
spoke  the  more  Polimite's  passion  grew,  and  there  was  nothing 
for  it  but  that  they  should  fight. 

"They  rode  a  course  on  horseback,  and  at  the  first  shock  both 
their  spears  were  broken.  Then  they  fell  to  with  swords,  fight- 
ing so  furiously  that  the  whole  palace  was  roused  by  the  clash 
and  din  of  their  arms.  King  Adrastus  himself  awoke,  and  hear- 
ing the  noise,  called  in  haste  for  his  chamberlains  and  squires, 
and  bade  them  find  the  cause  of  it. 

"When  the  two  knights  were  discovered  fighting  the  King 
came  down  and  ordered  them  to  cease,  saying  that  it  was  folly 
to  put  two  lives  in  jeopardy  over  so  little  a  thing,  and  all  the 
more  on  such  a  dark,  stormy  night  when  neither  could  see  fairly. 

"When  Tideus  and  Polimite — or  rather  Polimite  alone,  for 
Tideus  had  only  fought  to  save  his  life — grew  calmer,  they  saw 
how  rash  and  hotheaded  their  quarrel  had  been,  and  at  the  king's 
bidding  they  made  peace,  and  from  that  day  they  were  friends, 
true  as  steel  to  one  another  to  their  lives'  end. 

"When  they  were  reconciled,  Adrastus,  having  heard  from 
them  their  noble  lineage,  held  a  great  feast  in  their  honor,  and 
they  reveled  far  into  the  night.  But  when  the  feasting  was  over 
Adrastus  began  to  think  further  of  these  two  knights,  and  then 
again  of  his  daughters.  In  his  sleep  that  night  his  dreams  were 
troubled,  and  he  continually  called  to  mind  his  former  vision 
of  the  boar  and  the  lion. 

"On  the  morrow,  full  of  uncertain  thoughts,  he  went  to  the 
temple  of  Apollo  in  Argos  to  pray  and  to  seek  advice,  and  the 
god  bade  him  hie  homeward  at  once,  and  look  at  the  shields  of 


252  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

the  two  knights,  for  thus  he  should  learn  what  he  wished  to  know. 
He  hastened  back  and  did  as  he  was  commanded,  and  there  on 
the  shields  he  saw  the  interpretation  of  his  dream,  for  on  Poli- 
mite's  shield  was  the  sign  of  a  fierce  lion,  and  on  Tideus's  that 
of  a  wild  boar.  Adrastus  doubted  no  longer,  but  sent  for  the 
knights,  and  spoke  to  them  apart. 

"  'I  do  not  doubt,  sirs,'  he  began,  'that  it  is  fresh  and  green  in 
your  thought  how  God's  ordinance  has  brought  you  both  to  this 
land  together,  and  I  see  that  there  is  a  special  purpose  in  your 
coming.'  He  told  them  of  his  dream  and  the  answer  of  the 
god,  and  went  on:  'My  desire  is  to  make  an  alliance  in  mar- 
riage between  you  and  my  daughters,  if  your  hearts  are  in  accord 
with  this  plan.  You  shall  have  half  of  my  kingdom  while  I 
live,  and  when  I  am  in  the  grave  the  whole  shall  be  divided 
between  you.  I  am  old  now,  and  long  for  rest  and  ease ;  younger 
men  than  I  must  defend  this  realm  against  its  foes.  If,  then,  my 
purpose  is  pleasing  to  you,  delay  not  to  answer  me.' 

"Tideus  replied,  as  became  a  gentle  knight,  with  bowed  head 
and  courteous  words,  thanking  Adrastus,  and  agreeing  with  his 
desire,  and  Polimite  did  the  same.  Then  Tideus  made  Polimite 
choose  which  of  the  princesses  he  would  wed,  and  Polimite  chose 
Argive. 

"So  Tideus  married  Deiphile  and  Polimite  Argive,  and  the 
wedding  was  royally  celebrated  with  great  rejoicings  and  splen- 
dor. But  when  Ethiocles  at  Thebes  heard  of  it  he  became  jeal- 
ous and  afraid,  fearing  that  Polimite,  now  grown  so  powerful, 
would  drive  him  out  of  Thebes  utterly,  and  he  called  all  his 
vassals  and  allies  and  retainers,  and  told  them  plainly  that  he 
would  not  rest  content  till  his  brother  Polimite  was  slain;  and  he 
began  to  take  counsel  to  that  end. 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THEBES  253 

"In  the  meanwhile  his  year  of  rule  ran  out,  and  Polimite  con- 
sidered how  he  should  best  take  over  his  succession  in  Thebes. 
He  did  not  wish  to  go  armed  with  a  great  force,  for  thus  the 
citizens  might  become  suspicious  of  him;  but  he  feared  to  go 
alone,  knowing  that  his  brother  was  treacherous  and  crafty. 
Therefore  he  consulted  King  Adrastus,  who  held  that  it  were 
best  to  send  another  knight  first,  to  be,  as  it  were,  a  herald  of  his 
coming,  and  to  discover  whether  Ethiocles  was  minded  to  leave 
Thebes  peaceably;  let  someone  go,  therefore,  and  speak  with 
Ethiocles  for  him. 

"Tideus,  hearing  this,  said  that  he  would  gladly  do  his  brother 
(for  so  he  considered  Polimite)  this  service;  but  Adrastus  and 
Polimite  were  both  anxious  to  dissuade  him,  for  the  task  was 
likely  to  be  full  of  peril  to  any  knight,  however  valiant.  Never- 
theless Tideus  persisted,  and  having  persuaded  them,  made  ready 
to  set  out.  But  Deiphile,  his  wife,  mourned  sorely  when  she 
saw  him  go. 

"He  journeyed  to  Thebes  with  all  speed,  and  in  a  few  days' 
time  saw  the  high  towers  of  the  city  before  him.  He  entered 
the  gates,  and  having  asked  where  the  King's  palace  stood,  went 
straight  thither.  He  strode  bold  as  a  lion  into  the  hall  where 
Ethiocles  and  all  his  council  were  sitting. 

"  'Sir,'  he  said  to  the  king,  'you  doubtless  have  in  mind  that 
when  the  old  king  Edippus  died  you  and  your  brother  strove  for 
the  crown,  and  that  you  agreed  in  the  end  to  rule  each  in  turn  for 
a  year.  Since  your  year's  reign  now  draws  to  its  end,  Polimite, 
your  brother,  requires  you  of  right  to  acquit  yourself  as  a  true 
knight,  and  by  keeping  your  oath  to  avoid  strife  and  war.  You 
are  to  leave  this  city,  therefore,  and  let  Polimite  reign  in  your 
stead  for  a  year.  Do  this,  and  all  Greece  will  praise  you  for 


254  THE  CANTERBURY,  PILGRIMS 

your  truth-keeping.  I  have  said  my  message,  and  I  look  for 
your  answer.' 

"When  Tideus  had  thus  told  his  tale,  Ethiocles,  downcast 
and  pale,  angry  at  heart  but  courteous  in  outward  mien,  an- 
swered him:  'I  marvel  that  my  brother  desires  to  reign  in 
Thebes,  seeing  the  great  plenty  and  power  which  he  has  won 
for  himself  in  Argos.  I  think  the  lordship  and  dominion  of 
this  little  town  of  Thebes  should  be  of  small  account  with  him 
now.  I  trust  to  him  as  a  brother  to  help  me  in  any  time  of 
need,  and  I  look  to  him,  of  his  graciousness,  not  to  deprive  me  of 
this  my  poor  possession.7 

"Thus  far  he  spoke  smoothly  and  courteously,  but  now  he 
could  contain  his  jealous  anger  no  longer,  and  broke  out  furi- 
ously: 'There  is  no  bond  between  Polimite  and  me;  there  is 
no  pledge  that  he  should  govern  as  he  claims  either  for  a  year 
or  for  a  day.  He  shall  not  have  so  much  as  half  a  foot  of  land 
in  Thebes.  Let  him  keep  what  he  has  won  for  himself,  for  I 
will  reign  in  Thebes  till  I  die,  even  though  all  my  enemies  should 
strive  together  against  me.  Let  him  call  together  all  his  friends 
and  councilors:  I  dread  him  not.  You  show  yourself  proud 
and  bold  to  take  upon  you  this  haughty  message,  but  I  say  to 
you  that  it  is  folly  and  presumption,  and  he  shall  have  no  land 
nor  rule  here  while  the  walls  of  this  city  stand.  That  is  my 
answer ;  take  it  to  him.' 

"Tideus  was  amazed  at  this  rough  and  treacherous  reply. 
For  a  while  he  stood  silent  and  sad,  but  presently  answered 
calmly:  *I  know  now  that  you  are  untrue  to  your  word,  fickle 
and  forsworn.  Whatever  be  the  cause  of  it,  I  say  to  you  that 
you  will  rue  this  perjury.  All  Greece  shall  rise  up  against  you 
for  it,  and  King  Adrastus  will  lead  the  host  of  his  lords  and 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THEBES  255 

allies  until  you  are  utterly  defeated  and  your  falsehood  stands 
proved  before  the  whole  world.  Here  and  now  I  defy  you  on 
my  brother  Polimite's  behalf.  And  you  lords  that  are  present, 
I  call  on  you  to  witness  that  your  king  has  broken  his  word  which 
he  gave  before  you,  and  to  remember  that  you  yourselves  vowed 
to  obey  Polimite  in  his  year  of  rule  which  is  now  due.  Let 
no  time  pass  before  you  come  and  escort  him  hither  as  your  right 
and  lawful  king.' 

"With  that  he  turned  and  went  away,  not  as  one  afraid  or 
overcome,  but  proudly,  with  hand  on  sword,  ready  to  resist  any 
who  would  prevent  him.  Thus  he  strode  sternly  down  the  hall, 
and  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  away  with  all  speed. 

"When  he  had  gone  Ethiocles  was  left  staring  angrily  upon 
his  council,  too  amazed  at  his  valor  to  stop  his  going.  At  length 
he  broke  out  into  furious  speech,  and  ordered  the  chief  con- 
stable of  his  chivalry  to  pursue  Tideus  with  fifty  of  his  bravest 
knights  and  waylay  and  kill  him. 

"Fifty  knights  set  out,  armed  all  in  stout,  glittering  steel,  and 
rode  quickly  by  a  short  path  to  the  Sphinx's  hill,  where  they  lay 
in  ambush  hard  by  the  road  by  which  Tideus  must  pass. 

"Very  soon  Tideus  came  riding  along  with  no  suspicion  of 
treachery.  But  it  chanced  that  as  the  moon  was  rising  (it  being 
then  evening)  the  light  glanced  upon  the  armor  of  the  knights 
in  ambush,  and  caught  his  eye.  He  guessed  at  once  that  there 
was  some  plot  against  him,  but  nevertheless  he  went  boldly  on, 
holding  his  shield  before  him,  with  his  spear  in  the  rest,  ready 
for  attack. 

"In  a  few  minutes  the  knights  were  to  be  seen  clearly,  stand- 
ing full  in  his  path.  He  charged  them,  undaunted,  and  un- 
horsed and  slew  their  leader  at  the  first  shock.  Then  they  fell 


256  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

upon  him  all  at  once,  but  he  laid  about  him  so  manfully  with 
his  sword  that  he  cut  his  way  clear  through  them  to  a  narrow 
passage  where  they  could  come  at  him  only  one  at  a  time.  But 
they  dared  not  let  him  go  so  easily,  for  they  feared  the  wrath 
of  Ethiocles  if  they  returned  with  the  tale  of  how  one  man  had 
put  fifty  of  them  to  flight,  and  they  attacked  him  one  after  the 
other,  hoping  soon  to  weary  him.  But  he  fought  like  a  wild 
boar  at  bay,  and  kept  them  off,  killing  some  and  wounding  others, 
till  at  length  he  saw  a  huge  overhanging  stone  close  at  hand, 
which  by  a  sudden  jerk  he  loosened  so  that  it  fell  upon  them 
and  crushed  ten  of  them  to  death.  Then  he  set  upon  the  re- 
mainder with  such  a  will  that  they  were  all  slain  save  one,  who 
fled.  This  one,  wounded  and  faint,  made  his  way  as  best  he 
could  back  to  Thebes  and  told  Ethiocles  how  grievously  his 
knights  had  fared  at  the  hands  of  Tideus. 

"Tideus,  too,  was  faint  and  weary  with  his  fighting,  but  when 
his  enemies  were  all  got  rid  of  he  made  a  shift  to  mount  his 
horse,  and  rode  on  at  a  gentle  pace. 

"It  was  a  moonlight  night,  but  nevertheless  he  wandered  from 
the  road,  and  all  unknowingly  strayed  into  the  country  of  King 
Lycurgus.  He  came  at  length  to  a  great  castle  on  a  hill,  and 
hastened  to  go  up  to  it,  for  by  now  he  was  well-nigh  fainting 
from  his  journey  and  from  loss  of  blood.  He  entered  at  a  little 
gate  and  found  himself  in  a  garden,  wherein  was  a  pleasant 
arbor,  sweet  and  fresh.  Here  he  alighted,  and  left  his  horse 
to  pasture  on  the  soft  grass  of  the  garden,  and  himself  lay  down 
in  the  arbor  and  slept  till  he  was  roused  by  the  song  of  the  lark 
as  it  flew  up  high  into  the  clear  heaven  the  next  morning.  Even 
as  he  woke  he  heard  footsteps,  and  there  came  into  sight  a  prin- 
cess walking  amid  the  fresh  flowers  in  the  garden. 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THEBES  257 

"The  princess  was  the  daughter  of  Lycurgus,  and  when  she 
saw  Tideus  all  wounded  and  untended  she  was  filled  with  pity. 
She  went  up  to  him  and  bound  his  wounds,  and  had  him  carried 
within  the  castle  and  cared  for  till  he  was  rested. 

"But  Tideus  would  stay  no  longer  than  a  bare  day.  When  he 
learnt  where  he  was,  and  was  refreshed,  and  his  wounds  bound 
up,  he  desired  immediately  to  set  out  for  Argos,  and  he  did  so 
as  soon  as  he  had  thanked  the  princess,  and  vowed  to  be  her  true 
knight,  and  serve  her  in  whatsoever  way  she  commanded. 

"When  he  reached  Argos,  having  met  with  no  further  adven- 
ture, Adrastus  and  Polimite  were  enraged  at  the  treatment  he 
had  received,  and  swore  to  be  avenged.  But  first  of  all  they 
must  wait  till  he  was  wholly  healed  of  his  wounds,  and  then  at 
length  a  great  armament  was  prepared  to  overcome  Ethiocles." 

III.— THE  DOOM  OF  THEBES 

"And  now  the  doom  of  Thebes  began  to  draw  nigh  indeed. 
The  cruel  god  of  war  had  marked  the  city  out  for  destruction, 
and  strife  and  hatred  were  to  possess  it.  All  Greece  was  stirred 
up  into  battle  by  the  quarrel  between  the  two  brothers  who  were 
rightful  lords  of  Thebes. 

"Adrastus  sent  letters  and  messengers  to  all  the  kings  and 
princes  of  the  land  telling  them  of  the  wrong-doing  of  Ethiocles, 
and  calling  them  to  arms,  and  they  came  readily  and  gladly  to 
take  service  under  him  in  so  just  a  cause.  Prothonolope,  and 
Gilmichenes,  and  Ipomedoun,  Campaneus,  Genor,  Meleager, 
Locris,  Pirrus,  and  Tortolonus,  and  Palenon — all  these  were 
kings  who  took  the  side  of  Polimite,  with  many  another  knight 
and  lord.  Tideus  also,  and  Polimite  himself,  summoned  their 


258  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

friends  to  their  aid.  All  the  flower  of  Greek  chivalry  was  gath- 
ered together  against  Thebes,  so  that  it  seemed  as  if  on  the  one 
side  were  all  the  Greeks  and  on  the  other  the  Thebans  only. 

"But  Ethiocles  also  made  great  preparations,  knowing  what 
a  host  was  coming  against  him.  He  called  together  his  allies, 
and  gave  presents  to  many  doughty  knights  to  persuade  them  to 
join  him.  He  repaired  the  fortifications  of  Thebes,  and  laid 
in  a  vast  store  of  food  and  provisions  and  arms,  so  that  if  the  city 
were  taken  it  should  be  only  after  a  long  and  stout  defense. 

"When  the  Greeks  were  ready  to  begin  the  war  they  held  a 
council,  and  decided  that  it  would  be  well  to  consult  some  great 
seer  who  could  foretell  the  future  and  give  them  his  advice ;  and 
they  sent  for  a  certain  bishop  named  Amphiorax,  an  aged  and 
wise  man,  who  had  great  knowledge  of  magic  and  the  stars  and 
the  decrees  of  the  gods. 

"But  Amphiorax  by  his  arts  knew  that  the  expedition  would 
end  in  terrible  destruction,  and  that  all  the  noblest  kings  and 
princes  of  Greece  would  come  to  a  violent  end  therein;  he  him- 
self also  would  be  swallowed  up  alive  in  the  earth.  Therefore 
when  he  heard  that  the  Greeks  were  about  to  seek  him  he  hid 
himself,  telling  no  one  except  his  wife  where  his  place  of  refuge 
was. 

"The  messengers  of  the  Greeks  arrived,  and  could  not  find 
the  seer;  but  they  asked  his  wife,  and  questioned  her  so  long  and 
so  closely  that  at  last  she  revealed  to  them  that  he  had  shut  him- 
self up  in  a  certain  tower.  Thither  they  went,  and  found  Am- 
phiorax. Then  they  took  him  and  set  him  in  a  rich  chariot,  and 
led  him  to  their  host  to  be  their  chief  counselor. 

"But  when  the  kings  held  a  parliament  together,  and  asked 
Amphiorax  his  advice,  they  were  dismayed  and  surprised,  for  he 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THEBES  259 

told  them  all  that  he  knew — how  the  leaders  of  the  host  would 
fall  by  the  sword,  and  he  himself  be  swallowed  in  the  earth. 
Nevertheless,  though  he  told  them  this,  and  warned  them  not  to 
go  against  Thebes,  they  would  not  listen,  but  set  out  into  the 
enemy's  country,  taking  Amphiorax  with  them. 

"They  sat  down  before  Thebes  and  besieged  the  city.  But  the 
country  round  was  rocky  and  barren,  and  very  soon  they  began 
to  suffer  terribly  for  want  of  water,  and  all  the  more  that  it  was 
a  very  hot  season.  Many  died  outright  of  thirst  and  heat,  and 
others  in  despair  threw  themselves  upon  their  swords  and  killed 
themselves. 

"At  length  Tideus  and  King  Campaneus  rode  out  to  try  to 
find  some  place  where  there  was  enough  water  for  the  host. 
They  rode  this  way  and  that  over  the  land  till  they  reached  the 
neighboring  country  of  King  Lycurgus,  whither  Tideus  had 
wandered  before.  There  they  came  suddenly  upon  a  green, 
shady  arbor,  where  sat  a  lady  passing  fair,  having  in  her  arms 
a  little  child.  Her  name  they  discovered  to  be  Isophile,  and 
she  was  a  king's  daughter  who  had  left  her  own  country  because 
she  would  not  agree  to  a  plot  of  the  other  women  to  slay  their 
husbands  and  all  the  other  men  in  that  land.  She  had  fled  thence 
to  King  Lycurgus,  who,  knowing  her  to  be  noble  and  of  royal 
blood,  had  given  his  little  son  into  her  charge,  and  this  son  was 
the  child  which  lay  in  her  arms  when  Tideus  and  Campaneus 
first  saw  her.  Lycurgus,  you  must  know,  was  the  same  who  after- 
wards fought  for  Palamon  against  Arcita. 

"Tideus  told  Isophile  their  sore  straits,  and  she  answered  him 
that  she  could  show  him  where  there  was  water  abundant  enough 
to  supply  the  whole  host  for  a  long  time.  The  two  knights 
were  overjoyed  at  these  tidings,  and  begged  her  to  take  them  to 


260  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

the  place  at  once.  The  child  could  be  left  safely  in  the  arbor, 
for  no  harm  would  come  to  it  there. 

"Isophile  at  length  consented,  though  sadly  unwilling  to  leave 
the  child  alone.  She  went  with  Tideus  and  Campaneus,  and 
very  soon  the  Greek  host  was  rejoicing  in  the  flowing  streams  of 
cool  fresh  water  which  she  showed  them. 

"Thus  the  Greeks  were  helped  by  Isophile,  and  not  long 
after  they  were  able  to  reward  her  by  aiding  her  in  turn  in  her 
sore  need,  as  I  will  tell  you  briefly,  though  it  bears  but  little 
upon  the  story  of  the  fall  of  Thebes. 

"When  Isophile  returned  to  the  arbor,  she  found  the  child 
where  she  had  left  him,  half  hidden  on  a  flowery  bank;  but, 
alas!  the  boy  was  dead.  A  foul  serpent  or  dragon,  huge  and 
venomous,  had  bitten  him  as  he  slept,  and  he  lay  there  slain,  his 
face  turned  up  to  the  light.  Then  Isophile  hastened  back  to 
the  Greeks,  and  told  them  that  because  she  had  left  her  charge 
to  aid  them  she  would  die,  for  the  son  of  Lycurgus  was  slain, 
and  the  king  would  surely  kill  her  in  his  wrath.  The  Greeks 
were  filled  with  pity,  and  vowed  that  she  should  not  die  for  their 
sakes,  and  all  the  kings  and  princes  went  to  Lycurgus  and  begged 
him  to  spare  her.  But  he  and  his  queen  in  their  sorrow  for  the 
loss  of  their  son  found  it  hard  to  show  mercy,  yet  at  the  earnest 
entreaty  of  the  Greeks  they  said  that  they  would  pardon  Isophile 
if  the  serpent  were  slain.  Then  King  Prothonolope  was  sent 
to  seek  out  and  kill  the  monster,  and  after  a  long  search  he  found 
it  lurking,  grim  and  terrible,  under  a  rock  by  a  river's  bank; 
there  he  set  upon  it  boldly  and  slew  it,  and  sent  the  head  to 
Lycurgus,  who  straightway  pardoned  Isophile.  Thus  did  the 
Greeks  reward  her  for  her  kindness  to  them. 

"And  now  they  set  to  work  to  besiege  Thebes  yet  more  vig- 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THEBES  261 

orously.  They  ravaged  all  the  country  round,  and  slew  all  the 
beasts  and  destroyed  the  crops,  but  still  they  could  not  take  the 
city.  But  strife  had  arisen  in  Thebes  itself ;  the  lords  who  fought 
for  Ethiocles  could  not  agree  together,  and  quarrels  often  arose 
at  their  councils.  Jocasta,  also,  the  old  queen,  told  Ethiocles 
plainly  that  his  conduct  was  unknightly  and  unkingly. 

"  'Let  us  try  to  end  the  matter  while  there  is  yet  time,'  she 
said.  'Maybe  both  you  and  your  brother  will  repent  it  if  you 
continue  in  arms.' 

"In  short,  Ethiocles  was  pressed  on  every  side  to  endeavor  to 
make  terms  with  Polimite;  but  he  would  yield  only  so  far  as 
to  allow  Jocasta  to  go  to  Adrastus  and  offer  these  conditions — 
that  Ethiocles  should  be  acknowledged  King  of  Thebes  for  the 
rest  of  his  life,  except  for  one  year,  during  which  Polimite 
should  reign.  When  that  year  was  ended  Polimite  was  to  leave 
the  city,  and  never  approach  it  again. 

"Jocasta  came  weeping  to  Adrastus  and  his  council  and  laid 
these  terms  before  him,  but  Polimite  raised  her  up  and  com- 
forted her,  and  then  they  debated  what  answer  they  should  give. 
Tideus  said  outright  that  the  terms  should  be  refused,  and  that 
nothing  would  be  accepted  except  the  conditions  which  Polimite 
and  Ethiocles  had  agreed  upon  together  at  first.  But  Amphi- 
orax,  the  bishop,  was  against  this,  for  he  said  that  thus  the  war 
would  be  continued,  and  they  would  all  come  to  a  miserable 
end.  Then  Jocasta,  in  her  turn,  was  beginning  to  pray  them  to 
make  peace,  when  suddenly  a  strange  thing  happened  which 
cut  short  their  council. 

"There  had  once  been  sent  from  Egypt  to  Imeine  and  Anti- 
gone, the  sisters  of  Polimite  and  Ethiocles,  a  tame  tiger,  very 
swift  of  foot,  with  a  body  almost  like  a  lion's,  a  head  and  nose 


262  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

like  a  greyhound's,  eyes  red  as  fire,  and  a  hide  of  as  many  hues 
and  colors  as  a  panther's.  But  instead  of  being  fierce  and  cruel 
this  tiger  was  tame  and  gentle  as  any  roe,  and  it  chanced  that 
while  the  council  was  being  held  the  beast  escaped  out  of  Thebes 
and  ran  among  the  Greeks. 

"It  did  no  harm,  but  the  Greeks  feared  its  terrible  looks,  and 
very  soon  set  upon  it  and  killed  it.  Then  the  men  of  Thebes, 
furious  with  wrath  at  the  death  of  their  pet,  sallied  out  from 
the  walls  and  engaged  the  enemy.  Ethiocles  himself  donned 
his  armor,  and  came  forth  and  did  great  slaughter,  and  in  a  few 
moments  a  fierce  battle  was  raging.  For  some  time  the  fight 
was  equal,  but  at  length  the  valor  of  Tideus  forced  the  Thebans 
to  retreat  within  their  walls  again.  But  before  that  many  were 
slain  on  both  sides,  and  there  was  no  longer  any  hope  of  peace. 
Jocasta  was  courteously  escorted  back  to  the  city,  and  Greeks 
and  Thebans  alike  made  preparations  for  a  great  battle  on  the 
morrow. 

"The  next  day  the  Greeks  rode  out  in  battle  array  to  bid 
defiance  to  the  enemy.  Adrastus  was  at  their  head,  and  by  his 
side  in  a  rich  chariot  came  Amphiorax.  Suddenly  the  earth 
opened  beneath  their  feet  and  swallowed  Amphiorax,  chariot, 
and  horse  and  all ;  then  the  chasm  closed  again  over  him,  and  he 
was  seen  no  more,  but  fell  down  to  the  nether  regions.  Thus 
was  part  of  his  own  prophecy  fulfilled. 

"But  the  Greeks  did  not  stop  the  war  because  of  this,  though 
they  were  sorely  disheartened  at  the  fate  of  their  seer,  and  though 
the  Thebans  from  the  city  walls  taunted  them  with  having  taken 
a  false  prophet  for  their  guide.  They  selected  instead  of  the 
bishop  two  other  diviners,  Menalippus  and  Tredimus  by  name, 
and  of  these  they  chose  Tredimus  for  their  chief  adviser;  and 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THEBES  263 

then,  after  scattered  righting  for  a  few  days,  the  last  great  strug- 
gle began.  The  Thebans  issued  from  the  city,  and  the  Greeks 
at  once  joined  battle. 

"The  first  great  prince  to  be  slain  was  Tideus  himself,  but 
he  died  before  the  main  battle  began,  for  every  day,  in  the  little 
skirmishes,  he  was  wont  to  put  the  enemy  to  flight,  and  drive 
them  headlong  before  him  to  the  very  gates  of  the  city,  until  in 
the  end  he  was  pierced  by  an  arrow  shot  from  the  wall  at  close 
range.  No  leech  nor  surgeon  could  save  him,  for  the  wound  was 
mortal,  and  so  he  met  his  death  fighting  in  his  friend's  cause. 

"But  when  the  battle  became  general  the  like  of  it  was  never 
seen  in  Greece.  Long  and  fiercely  the  struggle  raged,  till  all 
the  chiefs  on  either  side  were  killed  except  Adrastus.  Polimite 
and  Ethiocles  slew  one  another  in  single  combat,  and  the  rest 
fell  in  different  parts  of  that  awful  field;  and  when  the  battle 
was  ended  Adrastus  drew  off  the  remainder  of  the  Greek  army 
and  gave  up  the  siege. 

"Thus  the  royal  house  of  Thebes  came  to  an  end.  But  the 
Thebans,  now  that  the  two  brothers  were  slain,  and  they  had  no 
king  to  reign  over  them,  chose  for  their  governor  a  tyrant  named 
Creon,  who,  as  you  heard  in  the  Knight's  tale  (so  I  am  told), 
would  not  suffer  the  dead  kings  to  be  buried.  But  in  a  little 
while  there  came  Theseus,  who  utterly  destroyed  the  whole  city 
and  slew  Creon,  as  you  have  learnt.  The  ladies  whose  lords  had 
been  slain  in  the  end  took  refuge  at  the  court  of  Adrastus  in 
Argos,  and  Adrastus  himself  reigned  peaceably  till  old  age  and 
death  came  upon  him. 

"So  Thebes  was  destroyed  and  its  kingly  line  cut  off.  And 
may  God  send  us  peace  in  our  lives,  not  war  like  that  of  Thebes, 
and  after  our  deaths  eternal  joy  I  My  tale  is  ended." 


264  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 


"A  GOOD  TALE  NEEDS  S  GOOD  WILL" 

THE  pilgrims  thanked  Lydgate  heartily  for  his  tale,  and  the 
Host  began  to  think  who  ought  to  tell  the  next. 

"Was  there  ever  so  fair  and  glad  a  morning  as  this?"  he  cried 
gayly.  "What  a  sweet  season  is  this  of  Mayl  Look  at  the  trees 
now  fresh  and  green,  and  but  a  little  while  ago  bare,  and  at  the 
flowers  of  different  hues  all  lovely  and  delightful  to  a  man's 
sight;  it  makes  my  heart  light  to  see  them.  Hark!  hear  the  love- 
notes  of  the  nightingale.  And  now  that  Heaven  has  given  us 
so  fair  a  day  we  ought  all  to  be  eager  to  take  up  a  share  in  our 
merriment.  Remember  the  proverb,  'He  who  would  tell  a  tale 
must  have  a  good  will  thereto.'  Who  will  tell  next?  I  dare 
say  some  of  you  cannot  think  of  a  story  so  early  in  the  morning, 
and  perhaps  if  we  drew  lots  the  turn  might  fall  to  some  sleepy 
fellow  who  would  only  waste  our  time;  but  surely  one  of  you 
is  ready  to  speak  without  being  called  upon?" 

The  Merchant  was  greatly  pleased  with  the  Host's  jovial 
words,  and  readily  volunteered  to  tell  the  next  tale. 

"Far  as  I  have  traveled,"  said  he,  "I  have  never  yet  seen  a 
man  who  could  rule  a  company  so  well  as  this  our  Host  Harry 
Bailly.  His  words  are  very  true  and  very  delightful  to  me  to 
hear ;  they  quite  overcome  me,  and  you  shall  not  find  me  falling 
short  of  my  duty.  I  will  gladly  give  you  the  next  tale,  though 
you  must  forgive  my  rough  and  ready  way  of  telling  it." 

With  that  he  began  his  second  tale. 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE 

BERYN 
I.— THE  FOLLY  OF  BERYN 

LONG  ago,  in  the  old  days,  Rome  was  the  greatest  city  on 
earth.  There  was  no  place  like  it,  and  the  Emperor  was 
the  most  powerful  monarch  in  the  world.  Now,  of  course, 
Rome  has  fallen,  and  is  not  so  mighty,  just  as  many  other  cities 
are  changed.  Have  not  Rye  and  Winchelsea,  here  in  England, 
not  so  far  from  us  now,  lost  most  of  their  old  wealth  and  power? 
But  that  is  not  my  story.  Come  nearer,  sirs,  you  that  are  all  be- 
hind, and  listen  to  me. 

"In  the  time  of  the  Emperor  Augustinus  (in  whose  reign  lived 
the  famous  Seven  Sages)  there  dwelt  a  little  way  outside  the 
walls  of  Rome  a  rich  and  prosperous  senator  named  Faunus. 
He  was  valiant  and  of  noble  birth,  and  had  married  a  wife 
named  Agea,  who  was  famous  for  her  wisdom  and  beauty. 

"For  a  long  time — fifteen  years  or  more — they  had  no  child, 
though  they  prayed  earnestly  for  one.  But  at  length  their  pray- 
ers were  answered :  a  son  was  born,  to  their  great  joy,  and  the 
name  of  Beryn  was  given  to  him. 

"The  little  Beryn  was  brought  up  with  the  utmost  care  and 
comfort.  He  had  four  nurses  to  look  after  him,  and  his  father 
loved  him  so  dearly  that- he  would  not  let  him  go  out  of  his 
sight.  Whatever  the  boy  set  eyes  on,  or  asked  for,  was  given  to 
him. 


266  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"But  it  would  have  been  better  for  him  if  he  had  been  taught 
good  manners  and  gentle  behavior,  for  he  grew  up  unruly  and 
bad-tempered.  If  he  disliked  any  one  of  the  boys  with  whom 
he  played,  he  would  beat  him,  or  stab  him  with  a  knife;  and 
he  would  rush  savagely  at  the  knights  of  his  father's  house  if 
they  contradicted  him  or  withstood  him  in  any  way. 

"When  he  became  a  young  man  he  grew  worse  instead  of 
better.  He  took  to  gambling  and  playing  with  the  dice,  wast- 
ing his  father's  money  endlessly,  for  he  never  won.  Sometimes 
he  would  come  home  from  some  street  brawl  with  his  clothes 
all  torn,  knowing  well  that  his  fond  mother  would  give  him  new 
ones  only  for  the  asking.  Often  his  father  had  to  appease  as 
best  he  could  the  men  whom  Beryn  in  a  riotous  mood  had 
wronged. 

"At  length  Agea  fell  ill,  and  sent  for  her  husband  Faunus, 
knowing  that  her  end  was  near.  Faunus  came  in  haste,  and 
when  he  saw  her,  he  perceived  that  he  would  soon  lose  her;  he 
was  filled  with  a  great  sorrow,  and  tears  came  to  his  eyes,  until 
he  thought  that  his  heart  would  break.  But  he  tried  to  speak 
gayly  and  cheerfully. 

"  'Husband,  this  is  no  time  to  grieve,'  said  Agea.  'Let  us 
speak  of  other  things,  for  death  is  very  near  me.' 

"  'Say  on,'  answered  Faunus.  'But  I  will  never  forget  you — 
no,  not  to  my  dying  day.' 

"  'You  have  been  a  kind  husband  to  me,  Faunus ;  never  was  a 
kinder.  Be  kind  still,  when  I  am  gone;  be  true  to  me,  and  wed 
no  other  wife.  Do  not  give  our  son  a  stepmother,  for  stepmoth- 
ers love  not  the  children  of  a  first  wife.  That  is  all  I  ask  of 
you,  dear  husband,  and  all  I  have  to  say.' 

"  'I  will  never  take  another  wife,'  answered  Faunus  solemnly. 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  267 

"Agea's  kin  were  all  sent  for  to  bid  her  good-fay,  and  among 
them  she  asked  for  Beryn.  But  he  was  away  from  home,  play- 
ing hazard  with  his  friends,  according  to  his  custom.  When 
Agea  saw  that  he  did  not  come,  her  heart  broke,  and  she  died 
without  looking  on  her  son  again. 

"One  of  Agea's  maidservants,  though  too  late  now,  had  already 
gone  to  seek  Beryn.  She  found  him  gambling;  he  had  lost  all 
his  money,  and  was  staking  his  gown  as  she  came  in. 

"  'Sir,  you  must  come  home,'  said  the  maid.  'Unless  you 
hasten,  your  mother  will  die  before  you  can  see  her  again.' 

"  Who  told  you  to  come  for  me,  girl?'  asked  Beryn. 

"  'Your  father,  sir.' 

"  'Get  along  home!  Have  you  nothing  better  to  do  than  come 
here  and  take  me  from  my  pastime?  I  had  rather  my  mother 
and  you  as  well  were  both  dead  than  lose  this  game!' 

"With  that  he  gave  her  a  cuff  on  the  side  of  the  head.  He 
cared  nothing  for  his  mother's  illness,  but  went  on  playing  like 
a  madman. 

"The  news  of  Agea's  death  spread  all  over  Rome,  and  she 
was  mourned  far  and  wide;  but  Beryn  took  no  heed  of  the 
mourning.  He  still  spent  his  time  with  bad  companions,  and 
cared  nothing  for  his  father's  sorrow  and  anger.  Faunus  tried 
to  persuade  him  to  quit  this  evil  way  of  life,  but  all  in  vain.  He 
grew  worse  every  day,  and  Faunus  began  to  pine  away  with 
grief  for  the  loss  of  Agea  and  the  wickedness  of  his  son. 

"The  Emperor  soon  heard  of  Faunus's  sad  state,  and  was 
greatly  moved  by  the  news.  He  summoned  the  Seven  Sages, 
and  took  their  advice  about  the  matter ;  and  they  were  of  opinion 
that  the  only  way  to  take  away  Faunus's  sorrow  was  to  give  him 
a  fresh  wife  to  take  the  place  of  Agea.  So,  to  make  a  long 


268  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

story  short,  the  Emperor  bestowed  upon  him  the  hand  of  Raine, 
a  lady  of  his  Court,  noted  for  her  loveliness. 

"Faunus  could  not  disobey  the  Emperor's  wish.  He  married 
Raine,  and  in  a  little  while  forgot  all  about  Agea  and  his  promise 
to  her.  He  grew  to  love  his  new  wife  so  much  that  he  seemed 
to  spend  all  his  days  in  looking  at  her;  so  the  people  of  Rome 
said;  he  never  did  anything  without  asking  her,  and  obeyed  her 
in  all  things. 

"It  fell  out  as  Agea  had  expected.  Raine  took  a  dislike  to 
Beryn,  and  strove  to  raise  a  quarrel  between  him  and  Faunus. 
But  at  first  she  pretended  to  be  kind  to  him,  and  gave  him  money 
and  clothing,  as  much  as  he  liked  to  ask  for. 

"One  evening  when  Faunus  was  with  her  he  noticed  that  she 
seemed  sorrowful  and  overcast. 

"  'Dear  wife,  my  heart's  delight,  why  are  you  sad?'  he  asked. 
'I  am  yours  always,  and  if  there  is  anything  in  my  power  which 
I  can  do,  I  will  do  it.' 

"Raine  began  to  sigh,  thinking  it  a  good  time  to  draw  upon  her 
store  of  plots  against  Beryn. 

"  'No  wonder  that  I  am  sad,'  she  answered,  'since  I  became 
your  wife.  But  I  must  put  up  with  my  fate.' 

"By  her  artful  words,  using  many  a  little  trick  of  voice  and 
look,  she  whetted  her  husband's  curiosity,  and  set  him  half  mad 
with  grief  for  her  distress.  At  last  she  let  him  know  her  pre- 
tended sorrow. 

"  'Alas  that  I  ever  married  you !'  she  cried.  'Suppose  we  have 
a  son  and  he  grows  up  like  Beryn!  I  had  rather  he  died  than 
spend  all  his  days  playing  hazard  as  Beryn  does.  Fifteen  times 
within  this  month  have  I  given  your  son  new  clothes  when  he 
came  back  with  his  own  lost  by  gambling  or  torn  in  some  riot- 


THE  MERCHANTS  SECOND  TALE  269 

ous  brawl.  The  half  of  our  possessions  would  not  be  enough 
to  keep  him.  If  I  were  you,  I  would  refuse  to  give  him  any 
more  clothes  unless  he  keeps  them  better  and  gives  up  his  folly.' 

"  'I  thank  you  for  telling  me,  wife/  answered  Faunus.  'I 
will  speak  to  him,  and  will  not  give  him  any  more  till  he  lives 
a  better  life.' 

"The  next  morning  Beryn,  when  he  rose,  found  that  he  wanted 
new  clothes.  He  asked  for  them,  but  in  vain ;  not  a  man  in  all 
the  house  would  give  him  anything. 

"Faunus  heard  the  uproar  Beryn  made  at  this  discovery,  and 
went  into  his  son's  room.  He  had  forgotten  nothing  of  what 
Raine  had  said,  but  was  boiling  over  with  anger.  He  sat  down 
in  a  chair  and  began  to  speak. 

"  'Son  Beryn,  I  must  give  you  a  lesson,  and  teach  you  to  look 
after  yourself.  You  are  a  man  now,  twenty  years  of  age,  and  you 
know  nothing.  Yet  you  could  win  back  my  love,  and  come  into 
honor  and  esteem,  as  well  as  profit,  if  you  would  only  leave  your 
evil  ways.  Give  up  your  gaming  and  profligacy,  and  join  the 
company  of  good,  honest  men.  Else  I  promise  you  that  you  will 
have  to  stand  on  your  own  feet  in  the  future.  I  will  no  longer 
buy  you  fresh  clothes  every  day  to  wear  to  rags ;  but  if  you  will 
give  up  bad  companions  and  live  steadily,  you  shall  have  your 
fair  share  of  what  Heaven  has  been  pleased  to  give  me.  If  not, 
you  shall  have  nothing,  my  son,  and  so  I  tell  you  now.' 

"Beryn  scowled. 

"  'Is  this  a  sermon?  Have  you  taken  to  preaching?  You 
have  never  treated  me  thus  before.  Give  me  some  clothes,  and 
let  me  go  back  to  my  friends.  They  are  waiting  for  me,  and 
I  will  not  give  them  up,  nor  my  dice-playing  either,  for  all 
that  you  can  leave  me  in  your  will.  Do  your  best  with  your 


270  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

goods  while  you  have  them,  for  when  they  fall  to  me  I  shall  do 
as  I  please.  Who  has  been  talking  to  you  and  setting  you  against 
me  ?  But  I  know  who  it  is — your  wife,  plague  take  her  1  Fancy 
a  man  letting  his  wife  do  as  she  pleases  with  his  wisdom  1  You 
love  Raine  so  much  that  she  has  stolen  your  wits  from  you,  and 
all  Rome  laughs  at  your  silly  fondness.  Now  I  know  what  it  is 
to  have  a  stepmother  P 

"Faunus  started  out  of  his  chair  in  anger  at  this  brutal  speech, 
and  swore  that  Beryn  should  repent  it.  But  Beryn  took  no 
heed  to  his  words ;  he  only  asked  for  a  new  shirt. 

"But  when  he  came  to  put  on  what  clothes  he  could  find,  he 
began  to  be  uneasy  in  his  mind.  He  had  nothing  but  rags  to 
wear,  so  old  and  torn  that  his  bare  skin  showed  through  in  many 
places.  He  went  to  his  father,  and  begged  him  to  give  him 
some  new  clothes ;  but  Faunus  would  not  answer  him  a  word. 

"At  last  Beryn  began  to  see  that  he  was  in  a  bad  way,  and 
all  through  his  own  fault.  'Now  I  know  indeed  that  my  mother 
is  dead,'  thought  he — the  first  time  he  had  even  brought  her  to 
mind  since  he  refused  to  see  her.  He  was  filled  with  shame 
and  sorrow,  and  could  not  bear  to  go  into  Rome  again  to  join  his 
old  comrades.  He  strode  out  of  his  father's  house,  half  mad, 
and,  wandering  he  knew  not  whither,  came  at  length  to  the 
churchyard  where  Agea  lay  buried. 

"When  he  saw  his  mother's  grave  he  turned  pale. 

"  'Alas !  gentle  mother,  how  kind  and  true  you  were  to  me  P 
he  cried,  and  fell  down  in  a  swoon. 

"When  he  came  to  his  senses  again  he  fell  to  weeping  once 
more,  repenting  bitterly  of  his  unkindness  and  evil  life.  'May 
God,  who  made  heaven  and  earth,'  said  he,  'grant  me  mercy 
and  grace  that  I  may  live  better,  and  keep  me  from  sin!  By 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  271 

my  own  wickedness  I  have  lost  my  mother's  life,  my  father's 
love,  and  my  own  happiness;  only  my  own  life  is  left  me,  to  pass 
in  suffering.' 

"Meanwhile  Raine  had  heard  what  Faunus  had  done,  and 
rejoiced  to  find  her  plot  so  successful.  But  she  pretended  to  be 
sorry  that  her  words  had  been  carried  out. 

"  'Dear  husband,'  she  said  to  Faunus,  'I  spoke  but  in  jest  to 
you  about  Beryn.  What  is  this  that  you  have  done  to  him?  He 
has  left  the  house  in  rags,  and  everyone  knows  that  you  have 
quarreled.  They  will  say  that  I,  his  stepmother,  stirred  up 
strife  between  him  and  you.  I  pray  you,  fetch  him  back  home 
again.' 

"  'Nay,  he  shall  not  come  back  yet  at  my  asking,'  replied  her 
husband.  'He  took  no  notice  of  my  words,  and  I  will  take  no 
notice  of  him.  Everyone  knows  his  evil  ways,  and  will  think 
them  the  cause  of  his  going  in  rags;  it  is  not  your  fault,  dear 
wife.' 

"  'Yes,  but  I  know  that  they  will  say  it  is  my  doing,'  she  said. 
'I  beg  you,  for  your  love  of  me,  send  for  Beryn  at  once,  and 
clothe  him  again,  and  make  up  your  quarrel.' 

"  'Since  it  is  your  will,  then,  he  shall  come  home.  But  it  is 
for  your  sake  alone;  if  you  had  not  asked  it,  the  grass  should 
grow  all  over  the  pavements  ere  I  would  stir  out  to  fetch  him. 
But  now  I  will  be  your  messenger  myself,  and  will  go  and  find 
him.' 

"Raine's  plan  had  succeeded,  and  Faunus  felt  now  such  anger 
against  Beryn  that  no  penitence  would  ever  make  them  friends 
again.  But  he  could  not  disobey  his  wife.  He  went  out  and 
asked  everywhere  for  Beryn,  in  all  the  old  haunts  and  places 
where  he  used  to  make  merry.  But  Beryn  was  in  none  of  them, 


THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

and  Faunus  almost  gave  up  the  search,  when  he  heard  that  his 
son  was  in  the  churchyard.  He  went  thither,  and  saw  Beryn 
by  Agea's  grave,  crying  out  bitterly  against  his  own  folly. 

"When  Faunus  came  to  the  grave  of  his  first  wife,  he  remem- 
bered that  he,  too,  had  not  kept  his  word  to  her,  and  he  grew  sad 
at  the  thought.  'Ah,  Agea,  my  old  love — yes,  and  my  new  love 
still, — alas  that  ever  we  had  to  parti  When  you  were  with  me, 
I  never  knew  sorrow  or  trouble,  but  all  our  days  were  glad- 
ness.' 

"He  drew  near  to  Beryn,  heavy  at  heart;  but  when  Beryn  saw 
that  it  was  his  father,  shame  would  not  let  him  go  to  meet  him, 
and  he  sought  to  slink  away  unseen.  But  Faunus  contrived  to 
reach  him,  and  told  him  why  he  came. 

"  We  have  sought  all  over  the  town  for  you,  dear  son,  and 
could  not  find  you.  Forget  what  I  said  to  you :  I  meant  it  only 
as  a  gentle  reproof,  and  now  that  I  know  you  have  taken  it 
so  much  to  heart  I  will  say  no  more.  Come  home  with  me,  and 
mend  your  ways,  for  I  see  that  your  sorrow  is  true.  If  you  will 
come,  I  will  give  you  everything  you  desire,  clothes  and  money 
and  horses,  and  I  will  ask  the  Emperor  to  knight  you.  What- 
ever you  need  shall  be  bought  for  you,  and  you  shall  lack  nothing 
so  long  as  I  have  anything  to  give  you.' 

"  Thank  you  for  your  goodness  to  me,  dear  father,'  answered 
Beryn,  'but  I  cannot  take  what  you  offer.  I  care  nothing  for 
knighthood,  and  as  for  the  rest,  hear  what  I  have  to  say.  You 
love  your  wife  dearly,  and  soon  she  will  give  you  sons  and  daugh- 
ters. If  I  come  back,  she  will  forever  be  trying  to  make  her 
children  your  heirs,  and  we  shall  quarrel  again  and  again.  She 
will  not  let  you  give  me  anything,  even  for  my  own  good,  and 
she  will  always  be  reproaching  you  bitterly  for  your  kindness 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  273 

to  me.  But  if  you  wish  to  help  me,  let  me  be  a  merchant  and 
have  five  ships,  well  loaded,  for  my  inheritance.  With  them  I 
will  sail  away,  and  never  trouble  you  again.' 

"Faunus  was  glad  to  hear  Beryn's  words,  for  thus  peace  would 
be  restored  to  his  home,  and  his  son  would  be  provided  for. 
But  he  did  not  show  his  joy  to  Beryn  for  fear  he  should  change 
his  mind. 

"  'I  wonder  how  such  a  plan  came  into  your  head,'  he  said. 
4You  will  give  up  the  honors  and  the  inheritance  which  are 
yours  by  law,  in  order  to  lead  a  life  of  toil  and  wandering  P 

"But  secretly  he  was  overjoyed  to  be  rid  of  his  son,  for  Beryn's 
conduct  had  killed  all  real  love  between  them. 

"When  Raine  heard  Beryn's  plan,  in  her  joy  she  kissed  Faunus, 
and  coaxed  him  and  cuddled  him  as  she  had  never  done  before. 
But  she  did  not  forget  to  carry  out  her  plan  to  the  end. 

"  'I  know  you  can  do  one  thing  more  for  me,  husband,'  she 
said,  'and  that  is,  secure  your  possessions  so  that  you  can  give 
them  to  whom  you  please.' 

"Beryn  by  law  could  claim  a  share  in  Faunus's  property,  and 
would  succeed  him  as  his  heir.  Raine  wanted  to  get  him  disin- 
herited, and  have  his  inheritance  for  herself  and  her  own  chil- 
dren. 

"Faunus  promised  to  do  as  she  wished,  and  she  thanked  him 
heartily  for  his  goodness.  When  he  left  her,  he  went  straight 
to  Beryn,  and  began  cunningly  to  try  to  get  his  own  way. 

"  Tut  away  your  mad  plan,  my  dear  son,'  he  said,  taking  him 
by  the  hand,  'and  do  as  I  advise  you.  You  are  sensible  now,  and 
of  man's  estate.  Why  should  you  be  a  merchant?  Think  of  my 
sorrow  if  you  lost  all  your  goods  at  seal  And  if  I  died  while 
you  were  absent  you  would  most  likely  lose  your  share  in  the 


274  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

inheritance.  Besides,  I  shall  have  to  raise  a  loan  on  my  lands, 
if  I  am  to  give  you  five  ships  and  merchandise  to  fill  them.  But 
still,  if  your  heart  is  set  on  it,  I  will  do  as  you  wish,  whatever  it 
cost  me.' 

"Faunus  guessed  rightly  that  the  way  to  persuade  Beryn  to 
go  was  to  pretend  to  wish  the  reverse.  Beryn  was  so  eager  to 
venture  as  a  merchant  that  he  was  willing  even  to  give  up  all 
claim  on  his  father's  property  if  only  he  could  have  his  ships 
and  cargo. 

"To  cut  a  long  story  short,  they  went  before  the  Emperor,  and 
Beryn  legally  gave  up  his  inheritance  in  exchange  for  a  deed 
giving  him  five  ships  full  of  merchandise.  The  bargain  was 
written  down  and  signed  and  sealed  before  the  Emperor  and 
senators,  and  the  parchment  was  given  to  a  third  person  for  safe 
keeping. 

"You  may  be  sure  Raine  was  joyful  when  she  heard  that  the 
matter  was  finally  settled.  Faunus,  too,  was  glad  to  give  Beryn 
his  ships  at  once,  and  Beryn's  only  wish  was  to  set  sail  imme- 
diately. So  they  were  all  satisfied ;  and  now  you  shall  hear  no 
more  of  Faunus  and  his  wife,  but  only  of  Beryn  and  his  adven- 


tures." 


II.— THE  BURGESSES  OF  FALSETOWN 


"As  soon  as  he  got  a  fair  wind,  Beryn  set  sail  from  Rome  for 
Alexandria  with  all  his  five  ships  and  their  cargo,  and  a  full 
ci?ew  in  each.  They  sailed  with  fine  weather  for  two  days  and 
a  night,  but  then  there  fell  on  the  sea  a  thick  mist  and  shut  them 
in.  The  mist  continued  for  three  whole  days  without  a  break, 
and  the  ships  were  so  hidden  in  it  that  one  could  not  be  seen  from 
another. 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  275 

"At  the  end  of  that  time  a  great  wind  arose,  clearing  the  fog 
away  and  almost  destroying  Beryn's  fleet  with  its  force.  Beryn 
and  his  crew  gave  themselves  up  for  lost;  the  wind  howled  and 
roared,  the  sea  raged  and  broke  over  them,  and  every  man  com- 
mended himself  to  Heaven,  thinking  his  last  hour  was  come. 
Thus  they  continued  for  a  day  and  a  night,  being  driven  they 
knew  not  whither,  right  out  of  their  course.  But  on  the  morrow, 
just  when  they  thought  all  was  over  with  them,  the  storm  began 
to  abate;  the  wind  dropped,  and  in  a  little  while  the  sea  became 
calm  again. 

"Beryn  called  one  of  the  sailors  to  him.  'By  the  grace  of 
Heaven  we  are  saved,'  said  he.  'Go  up  to  the  masthead,  and 
see  if  the  other  four  ships  are  anywhere  near  us.1 

"The  man  went  aloft,  and  when  he  had  been  there  a  little  while 
called  down  to  Beryn:  'Cheer  up,  sir!  Your  ships  are  coming 
sailing  up  all  safe  and  sound.  You  will  see  them  in  a  moment 
What  is  more,  I  spy  land.  Turn  our  course  eastward,  and  we 
shall  reach  it.' 

"  'Heaven  be  praised!'  cried  Beryn.  'We  have  come  through 
the  storm  with  our  cargo  all  safe,  and  it  is  good  merchandise 
that  I  could  ill  afford  to  lose.  Helmsman,  steer  for  the  land, 
and  when  the  other  ships  catch  us  up,  clap  on  all  sail!' 

"He  called  the  chief  seamen  out  of  each  ship  to  a  council, 
when  the  little  fleet  was  once  more  united,  and  told  them  that 
land  was  near.  But  none  of  them  could  guess  what  country 
it  was  for  which  they  were  then  making,  and  they  debated  what 
they  had  best  do. 

"  'The  town  which  we  can  see  on  yonder  coast  seems  fair  and 
prosperous  in  appearance,'  said  Beryn ;  'but  I  think  it  would  be 
well  if  I  were  to  land  alone  by  myself,  and  go  over  it,  to  see  what 


276  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

sort  of  place  it  really  is.  What  say  you,  sirs?  Do  you  think 
that  a  good  plan?' 

"They  agreed,  and  said  that  if  it  seemed  likely  to  profit  them 
they  would  put  in  at  this  port;  if  not,  they  would  gladly  go  else- 
where. 

"But  they  knew  nothing  of  what  the  town  really  was.  In  all 
the  world  there  was  no  city  so  false  as  this,  no  people  so  deceitful 
and  dishonest  as  the  inhabitants  of  this  country.  And  the  most 
cunning  of  all  their  tricks  was  this — that  when  any  ships  of  an- 
other nation  came  into  port,  they  hid  themselves  in  their  own 
houses,  and  left  the  streets  quite  empty;  no  one  rode  about,  no 
one  walked  on  the  paths,  there  was  nobody  in  the  shops.  If  a 
stranger  found  them,  and  spoke  of  trading  with  them,  they  pre- 
tended to  be  utterly  ignorant  of  merchandise.  In  fact,  there 
were  no  such  rogues  as  they  in  the  whole  earth,  as  you  will  very 
soon  see. 

"Beryn  put  on  his  best  clothes,  as  became  a  rich  merchant,  and 
mounted  a  splendidly-harnessed  horse,  and  rode  into  the  town, 
with  a  page  running  alongside.  He  went  right  through  the  city, 
but  saw  not  a  soul  in  the  streets  or  shops,  all  the  house-doors  and 
windows  being  closed.  At  length,  however,  he  came  to  a  fine 
house,  whose  gate  stood  open.  Here  there  lived  (though  Beryn 
did  not  know  it  then)  a  manciple,  the  most  slippery  cheat  of  all 
the  burgesses  in  that  false  town. 

"Beryn  entered,  and  found  the  master  of  the  house  playing 
chess.  But  as  soon  as  the  burgess  saw  him,  he  put  the  chess 
aside,  and  started  up,  crying,  'Bless  me!  what  wind  has  blown 
you  hither?  I  wish  I  could  give  you  a  better  welcome,  but  you 
must  take  the  will  for  the  deed,  and  put  up  with  the  best  I  can 
do  for  vou.' 


THE  MERCHANTS  SECOND  TALE  277 

"He  saw  from  Beryn's  dress  that  he  was  a  rich  man,  and 
probably  the  owner  of  the  ships  which  had  just  come  into  harbor ; 
and  he  brought  all  his  cunning  to  bear  upon  him,  welcoming  him 
with  the  greatest  kindness,  and  showing  him  every  imaginable 
courtesy. 

"  'It  is  a  day  to  be  thankful  for  when  I  see  you  here  in  my 
country  safe  and  sound/  said  he,  pretending  to  remember  Beryn 
as  an  old  friend,  though  he  had  as  yet  no  idea  even  of  his  name. 
'Tell  me,  now  what  brings  you  here?  Can  I  serve  you  in  any- 
way? If  there  is  anything  in  my  power  that  I  can  do  to  please 
you,  I  will  do  it.' 

"The  other  citizen  who  had  been  playing  chess  with  the  bur- 
gess of  the  house  now  rose  up,  as  if  out  of  respect  to  Beryn,  and 
fell  in  with  his  comrade's  crafty  plan  in  a  moment. 

"  Tray,  who  is  this  worshipful  gentleman?'  he  asked,  inno- 
cently enough;  'you  seem  to  know  him.  Have  you  met  him 
before?' 

"  'Know  him!'  said  the  other — (I  have  seen  him  hundreds  of 
times!  I  will  treat  him  like  a  brother,  and  do  everything  for 
him  that  I  can.  I  tell  you,  in  his  own  country  he  is  a  man  of 
rank  and  wealth.' 

"  Well,  then,  there  are  a  thousand  in  this  town  who  would  be 
ready  to  do  him  a  service  for  your  sake.' 

"The  master  of  the  house,  whose  name  was  Syrophanes,  now 
asked  his  friend  to  entertain  Beryn  for  a  few  moments  while  he 
went  to  look  after  his  guest's  horse.  'A  gentle  heart  cares  for 
his  beast  when  he  has  seen  to  his  own  welfare,'  he  said.  'I  will 
look  to  your  steed,  and  then  find  some  of  my  choicest  wine  for 
you.' 

"With  that  he  went  out,  and  left  Beryn  with  his  friend. 


278  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

Beryn  was  a  little  confused  at  the  warm  welcome  he  had  re- 
ceived, and  hardly  knew  what  to  think,  though  he  suspected  no 
deceit.  When  the  host's  friend  asked  him  about  himself,  he  an- 
swered quite  frankly. 

"  'My  name  is  Beryn,  and  I  have  come  from  Rome  with  five 
ships  filled  with  merchandise.  The  ships  are  in  your  harbor 
now.  But  I  am  filled  with  wonder  at  your  friend's  kind  wel- 
come of  me,  and  I  do  not  know  why  he  is  so  willing  to  entertain 


me.' 


"  'It  is  not  surprising,  sir,'  answered  the  other.  'He  has  often 
been  to  Rome ;  indeed,  I  think  he  was  born  there.' 

"  'Ah,  no  wonder,'  said  the  simple  Beryn.  'I  expect  he  has 
seen  me  there.  Yes,  his  welcome  proves  it.' 

"Meanwhile  Syrophanes  had  gone  to  the  stable  and  found 
Beryn's  page-boy  tending  his  master's  horse.  He  asked  the  boy 
a  few  questions,  and  in  a  few  minutes  had  got  out  of  him  every- 
thing about  Beryn — his  name,  home,  parents,  the  death  of  Agea, 
and  all.  Then  he  went  back  into  the  house  with  a  well-feigned 
look  of  friendly  grief  on  his  face. 

"'Ah,  Beryn!'  he  cried,  coming  into  the  room,  'I  am  sorry 
that  your  dear  mother  Agea  is  dead.  Heaven  rest  her!  Never 
had  I  a  warmer  welcome  anywhere  than  from  her — no,  nor 
half  so  good  a  one.  And  so  you  are  a  merchant,  and  have  come 
all  this  way  oversea  from  Rome!  You  have  left  your  inherit- 
ance to  come  here !  Well,  you  might  have  fared  ill  indeed,  and 
you  must  put  up  with  the  best  you  -can  get.  I  must  go  down  to 
the  harbor  with  you  and  see  your  ships  when  we  have  dined.' 

"So  they  all  three  sat  down  and  had  a  good  dinner  together. 
The  burgess  was  a  wealthy  man,  and  knew  how  to  provide  a 
fine  feast. 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  279 

"When  they  had  done  their  dinner,  a  chess-board  and  men 
were  brought  out.  They  were  of  ivory  and  the  men  most  beauti- 
fully wrought  and  polished,  and  colored  white  and  blue.  Beryn 
was  delighted  at  the  sight  of  them. 

"  'I  dare  say  you  would  find  your  match,  and  be  checkmated 
in  a  very  short  time,'  said  Syrophanes  to  him  jestingly,  meaning 
to  make  him  play. 

"  That  may  well  be,'  answered  Beryn.  'But  now  I  must  go 
and  see  to  my  ships.' 

"  There  is  no  need  of  that,'  said  the  other.  They  arc  not 
settled  down  properly  in  the  harbor  yet;  I  sent  three  messengers 
while  we  dined  to  find  out.  Let  us  have  a  game.  I  will  be  the 
first  foe  on  whom  you  shall  try  your  skill.' 

"Beryn  agreed,  and  they  began  to  play.  Beryn  won  four 
games  one  after  the  other,  and  grew  weary  of  such  an  easy  vic- 
tory. 

"  'I  do  not  want  to  play  any  more,'  he  said.  Where  we  are 
so  unequal  the  game  is  poor.  I  must  go,  and  I  thank  you  very 
heartily  for  your  good  cheer  and  the  games  we  have  played.' 

"The  burgess  had  allowed  Beryn  to  win  in  order  to  encourage 
him,  arid  he  did  not  want  him  to  go  away. 

"  'Nay,  Beryn,  do  not  go,'  he  pleaded.  'Let  us  make  the  game 
better  by  laying  a  wager  on  it.  Suppose  we  agree  to  this :  who- 
ever is  checkmated  must  do  whatever  the  other  bids  him,  or  else 
drink  up  all  the  salt  water  in  the  sea.' 

"It  was  a  strange  wager,  but  the  silly  Beryn  yielded  and  agreed 
to  the  terms,  thinking  himself  sure  of  victory,  though  some  of 
the  citizens  who  were  looking  on  were  certain  that  he  would  lose, 
for  Syrophanes  was  the  best  chess-player  in  the  country.  But 
Beryn  knew  nothing  of  that. 


28o  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"They  fell  to  the  game  again,  and  Beryn  played  very  carefully. 
But  for  all  his  skill  he  got  the  worst  of  it.  In  an  hour  or  so  his 
pieces  were  nearly  all  taken  or  utterly  blocked,  and  he  was  well- 
nigh  mated. 

"Meanwhile  the  burgess,  seeing  victory  in  his  grasp,  took  coun- 
sel with  his  friends,  and  sent  for  the  sergeants  of  the  town,  who 
came  and  walked  up  and  down  the  hall  just  as  if  they  were  there 
by  chance,  though  Syrophanes  had  taken  care  to  let  them  know 
his  purpose. 

"By  this  time  a  great  many  people  had  gathered  round  to  see 
the  end  of  the  game.  Beryn  turned  his  eyes  away  from  the 
board  for  a  moment  and  saw  them,  and  knew  then  that  he  was 
betrayed. 

"T(ay  on,  Beryn,'  said  his  host;  'you  are  getting  the  worst 
of  it!' 

"The  lookers-on  began  to  talk  to  one  another  about  the  wager. 
Beryn  overheard  something  of  what  they  said,  and  was  so  con- 
fused at  the  thought  of  what  might  happen  that  he  let  Syro- 
phanes capture  a  rook  very  easily.  The  loss  only  made  his  dis- 
may greater;  his  heart  sank,  and  he  turned  pale  with  distress 
and  anger. 

"  'Look,  Beryn,'  said  the  burgess  suddenly:  'you  see  that  piece 
there?  I  can  mate  your  king  when  I  please  1' 

"With  that  he  moved  one  of  his  chessmen  and  cried,  'Check- 
mate !' 

"The  sergeants  by  this  time  were  standing  behind  Beryn.  One 
of  them  plucked  him  by  the  sleeve,  saying,  'What  are  you  going 
to  do  now,  sir?' 

"'Why  do  you  lay  hands  on  me,  sirs?'  answered  Beryn* 
'What  have  I  said  or  done  that  is  wrong?7 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  281 

"  'It  is  no  use  to  resist,'  the  sergeants  replied.  'You  must  come 
with  us  to  the  steward  of  the  town,  whether  you  wish  it  or  not. 
He  will  hear  what  you  have  to  say.' 

"  'You  need  not  drag  me  so  roughly,'  objected  Beryn. 

"  'Come  with  us,'  they  answered;  'we  cannot  listen  to  you.' 

"  'I  beg  you  to  hear  me,'  Beryn  pleaded.  'I  have  played  chess 
with  my  good  host  here,  and  he  has  won  the  wager  we  laid  on  the 
game.  But  that  is  between  him  and  me;  what  have  you  to  do 
with  it?' 

"Syrophanes  gave  a  great  cry  at  that,  and,  setting  his  arms 
akimbo,  began  to  protest  loudly. 

"  'Would  you  think  to  browbeat  me?'  he  said  angrily  to  Beryn. 
'None  of  your  lying  tales.  Go  with  the  sergeants,  and  be  quick 
over  it.  You  shall  tell  your  story  to  the  steward.' 

"  'Do  you  mean  this,  sir?'  asked  Beryn.  'You  are  my  host, 
and  you  know  my  country  and  family,  as  you  have  yourself  told 
me  a  dozen  times  already  to-day.' 

"  'What  if  I  did  say  so?'  answered  the  false  burgess,  following 
him,  as  the  sergeants  forced  him  to  go  with  them.  'You  will 
believe  what  I  say  a  little  less  next  time.  I  only  spoke  to  you  in 
order  to  get  you  into  trouble,  and  now  that  I  have  my  way,  I 
will  not  spare  you.' 

"Thus  they  quarreled  all  through  the  streets  till  they  came  to 
the  hall  where  the  steward  was  sitting.  His  name  was  Evander, 
and  he  was  crafty  and  wicked;  but  he  had  with  him  a  burgess  as 
provost  to  advise  him,  called  Hanybald,  who  was  still  more  cun- 
ning. 

"Beryn's  host  told  what  had  happened,  and  all  about  the  terms 
of  the  wager;  he  did  not  add  or  hide  anything,  for  in  that  town 
it  was  not  necessary  to  conceal  deceit. 


282  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"  'Now,  Beryn,'  said  the  steward,  'you  have  heard  this  good 
burgess's  tale.  You  must  fulfill  your  part  in  the  wager,  and  do 
anything  that  he  likes  to  order,  or  else  drink  all  the  water  that 
is  salt  in  the  sea.  Which  do  you  choose?  I  care  not,  but  you 
must  do  one  or  the  other.' 

"Beryn  was  well-nigh  speechless  with  dismay,  and  no  wonder, 
for  he  had  not  expected  to  meet  with  a  host  so  treacherous  and 
crafty  as  Syrophanes.  He  begged  Evander  to  grant  him  one  day 
in  which  to  make  up  his  mind. 

"  'But  if  I  allow  you  a  day,'  said  the  steward,  'you  must  give 
some  pledge  or  surety  that  you  will  appear  in  court  to-morrow.' 

"  'I  have  a  plan,'  broke  in  Hanybald.  'He  has  five  ships  lying 
yonder  in  the  harbor.  Let  us  take  them  as  surety.  I  am  your 
provost,  and  will  seize  them  to  execute  justice.' 

"  'He  must  give  his  consent,'  answered  Evander. 

"  'I  agree,'  said  Beryn;  'there  is  no  other  way.' 

"So  Beryn  was  set  free,  and  went  down  to  the  guay  with  Hany- 
bald to  look  at  the  ships. 

"  'Beryn,'  said  Hanybald,  as  they  were  talking  on  the  way,  'I 
give  you  my  word  that  I  can  do  you  a  good  turn.  If  you  listen 
to  me,  you  need  fear  nothing.  Look  you,  the  steward  said  that 
your  ships  were  to  be  seized,  but  he  said  nothing  about  the  car- 
goes in  them ;  and  when  I  have  to  seize  the  ships,  I  shall  not  be 
obliged  to  take  the  merchandise.  Sell  me  the  goods,  then ;  I  will 
pay  a  high  price  for  them,  and  give  you  a  written  agreement,  if 
you  wish.  Or  come  and  see  what  I  could  give  you  in  exchange. 
I  have  two  or  three  warehouses  full  of  some  of  the  best  mer- 
chandise in  all  this  great  city.  We  can  certainly  come  to  a  bar- 
gain between  us,  if  you  think  well  of  it.' 

"  'A  fair  offer,'  said  Beryn.    'I  thank  you,  sir,  and  I  will  do 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  283 

as  you  say,  if  you  assure  me  that  I  do  not  break  the  law  thereby.' 

"  'I  give  you  my  word  for  it,'  answered  Hanybald. 

"With  that  they  rode  together  to  Hanybald's  warehouses, 
where  Beryn  found,  as  he  had  been  told,  a  great  store  of  costly 
merchandise,  richer  than  any  to  be  found  elsewhere  in  that  city. 
When  they  had  looked  carefully  at  all  this,  they  went  down  to 
Beryn's  ships,  and  Hanybald  inspected  the  goods  there. 

"  'Your  merchandise  is  very  fine,  Beryn/  he  said  at  length. 
'Let  us  come  to  terms.  I  will  give  you,  in  exchange  for  your 
five  shiploads,  five  loads  of  whatever  goods  you  can  find  any- 
where in  my  warehouses.  That  is  what  I  offer;  if  you  think  it 
a  good  bargain,  talk  it  over  with  your  men,  and  let  me  know  soon 
what  you  decide,  for  I  have  no  time  to  waste.' 

"Beryn  called  the  captains  of  his  ships,  and  told  them  all  that 
had  happened.  They  agreed  that  the  best  that  they  could  do 
was  to  take  Hanybald's  offer. 

"But  now  hear  what  that  rascal  Hanybald  had  done.  When 
he  left  Beryn  to  make  up  his  mind,  he  went  straight  to  his  ware- 
houses, and  emptied  them  of  everything;  nothing  was  left  except 
the  walls  and  the  roof  and  the  beams.  When  Beryn  came  with 
his  men  to  fetch  whatever  goods  they  could  find  in  the  ware- 
house, according  to  the  agreement,  Hanybald  bade  them  go  in 
and  choose.  But  as  soon  as  they  saw  the  bare,  empty  rooms  they 
knew  that  Beryn  had  once  more  been  cheated. 

"Beryn  rushed  out  of  the  warehouse  like  a  madman,  and  hur- 
ried down  to  his  ships  to  stop  the  unloading  of  his  goods.  But 
he  was  too  late.  Three  hundred  men  were  busy  carrying  the 
bales  and  cases  out  of  each  ship  to  Hanybald's  house;  for  the 
crafty  citizen  had  laid  his  plans  well,  and  had  ordered  the  men 
to  start  work  as  soon  as  Beryn  and  his  captains  left  the  ships. 


284  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"Beryn  ran  off  again  to  Hanybald,  no  one  daring  to  stop  him. 
But  Hanybald  greeted  him  with  a  careless  smile. 

"  (It  is  no  use,  Beryn,'  he  said.  'Lay  aside  your  anger.  You 
know  well  enough  that  I  have  seized  your  ships  according  to  the 
law,  and  the  goods  are  mine,  since  you  have  just  exchanged  them 
for  five  loads  of  whatever  you  can  find  in  my  warehouses.  You 
keep  your  word,  and  I  keep  mine.  What  do  you  want  here?  I 
never  saw  a  man  like  you :  one  moment  you  wish  to  sell,  and  the 
next  you  refuse.  If  you  are  not  satisfied,  let  us  go  to  the  steward 
and  lay  the  matter  before  him.' 

"  'No,  indeed  P  cried  Beryn,  who  knew  enough  of  Evander  the 
steward  by  now. 

"  'You  will  have  to  go,  whether  you  like  it  or  not,'  said  Hany- 
bald. 'I  am  the  steward's  provost,  and  I  have  power  to  compel 
you.  Come,  get  on  your  horse,  and  do  not  let  us  fall  out  about 
it.' 

"So  Beryn  sorrowfully  mounted  his  horse,  saying  to  his  men, 
'Take  no  heed  of  me ;  I  will  come  back  to  you  when  I  can.  You 
see  that  I  can  do  nothing  else.' 

"When  they  came  to  the  steward,  to  cut  a  long  story  short, 
it  was  decided  that  Beryn  should  have  a  day  in  which  to  pre- 
pare his  defense,  and  give  reasons  why  Hanybald  should  not 
seize  his  cargoes.  And  thus  there  were  two  cases  in  which 
Beryn  had  to  appear  before  the  steward  on  the  morrow." 

III.— THE  LAND  OF  LIES 

"Beryn  left  the  steward's  court  ruefully,  and  turned  to  go  to- 
wards his  ships.  But  the  fame  of  his  misfortunes  had  by  this 
time  run  throughout  the  town,  and  he  soon  found  a  great  crowd 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  285 

at  his  heels  pressing  eagerly  to  catch  sight  of  this  new  dupe 
whom  Syrophanes  and  Hanybald  had  cheated  so  successfully. 
Every  rogue  in  the  town — that  is  to  say,  every  single  inhabitant 
— wished  to  have  his  turn  at  plundering  poor  Beryn. 

"Beryn  made  his  way  angrily  through  the  mob  with  his  page 
beside  him.  He  had  not  ridden  a  stone's  throw  when  a  blind 
man  met  him,  and  saying  nothing,  laid  hold  of  him  by  the  coat 
and  held  him  till  he  stopped. 

"  'Not  so  fast,  sir,'  cried  the  stranger  when  he  had  made  Beryn 
stand  still.  'Do  not  try  to  escape.' 

"Beryn  thought  that  it  was  a  joke,  and  made  as  if  to  free 
himself.  But  the  blind  man  only  clutched  him  more  tightly 
with  both  hands. 

"  'You  shall  not  get  off,  for  all  your  wealth,'  he  cried,  'until  1 
have  had  the  law  on  you.  It  is  through  you  that  I  have  lost  my 
sight' 

"Beryn  could  not  get  past  him,  for  he  stood  right  in  his  path, 
and  the  crowd  was  closing  in  round  him  on  every  side.  They 
were  all  trying  to  prevent  his  going,  and  speaking  up  for  the 
blind  man. 

"  'You  must  stop  and  go  and  submit  to  the  law,'  they  said, 
'however  great  a  man  you  may  be.' 

"  'I  would  do  so  readily  enough,'  answered  Beryn,  'if  there 
was  any  cause  for  it,  but  I  know  none.' 

"  'No?'  said  the  blind  man.  'I  will  tell  you  what  you  have 
done.' 

"  'Say  on,  then.' 

"  'Nay,  this  is  no  place  for  my  plea,'  answered  the  man. 
'There  is  no  judge  here  of  power  enough  to  give  me  justice.  We 
will  go  before  Evander  the  steward,  and  he  shall  decide  between 


286  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

us.  When  I  have  told  my  tale  and  you  have  answered  it,  men 
will  be  able  to  see  if  you  are  guilty  or  not.  Thank  Heaven  for 
this  dayl  At  last  I  have  found  you,  and  can  show  you  to  be  my 
old  partner  who  cheated  and  robbed  me!  You  thought  that  you 
would  never  be  found  out,  but  there  is  something  more  to  be 
said  about  that,  as  you  shall  see.  Truth  will  out,  as  the  saying 
is.' 

"As  they  were  talking  the  crowd  had  been  moving  them  in  the 
direction  of  the  hall  of  justice,  where  the  steward  was.  When 
they  reached  it  the  blind  man  was  sworn,  and  hastened  to  make 
his  plea. 

"  'Sir  Steward,  I  beg  you  to  hear  me  for  a  short  time.  I  have 
seized  a  fellow  who  has  done  me  more  wrong  than  any  man  on 
earth,  and  I  desire  the  aid  of  the  law.  You  know  how  often  I 
have  complained  to  you  of  the  way  in  which  I  was  betrayed  and 
ill-used  by  a  man  who  long  ago  exchanged  eyes  with  me.  This 
is  he  who  did  it.  I  lent  him  my  eyes  for  his  just  for  a  little  time, 
and  he  found  mine  better  than  his  own  and  kept  them,  to  my 
great  sorrow  and  pain,  as  you  know.  I  have  not  got  my  own, 
and  I  cannot  see  with  his.  But  whenever  I  came  to  you  before 
you  told  me  that  you  could  do  nothing  unless  I  brought  the  man 
who  had  wronged  me  into  court.  Well,  here  he  is  now.  Don't 
let  him  go  until  he  has  given  me  back  my  eyes!' 

"  'Beryn,'  said  Evander,  'do  you  hear  how  exact  and  well- 
drawn  is  this  accusation?' 

"Beryn  was  speechless  with  surprise  and  anger,  which  was  a 
good  thing  for  him,  for  by  the  law  of  that  country  whatever  a 
man  swore  on  oath  was  regarded  as  proved  and  true,  so  that  if 
Beryn  had  denied  the  charge  he  would  have  been  cast  into  prison 
at  once  for  falsehood.  The  citizens,  taking  advantage  of  this 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  287 

custom,  were  forever  going  to  law  with  strangers,  who  seldom 
got  off  without  losing  something. 

"  'You  will  be  condemned  if  you  do  not  answer,  Beryn,' 
Evander  went  on,  seeing  that  Beryn  was  silent. 

"  'It  would  be  of  little  use,  sir,'  Beryn  replied,  'if  I  answered 
thus  by  myself  without  any  man's  advice.  Surprise  has  taken 
away  my  wits.  I  pray  you  give  me  a  day  in  which  to  make  my 
answer  ready.' 

"  'Very  well,'  said  the  steward,  'come  here  again  to-morrow.' 

"Beryn  took  his  leave  and  went  out  of  the  court.  He  was 
mounting  his  horse  to  ride  away  when  a  woman,  carrying  a  child 
in  her  arms,  ran  up  weeping  and  seized  his  bridle. 

"  'Softly,  sir,'  she  cried,  'do  not  hurry  away.  You  must  wait 
and  hear  me.  You  are  my  husband ;  you  villain !  why  did  you 
leave  me?  Come  before  the  steward  and  hear  what  I  have  to  say 
to  you.  Alas,  that  I  ever  married  you!  This  two  years  have  I 
suffered  grief  and  hardship,  and  all  because  of  youl  But  now 
men  shall  see  who  it  is  that  has  done  wrong.' 

"The  crowd  had  gathered  all  round,  and  Beryn  had  to  go  back 
into  the  steward's  court  again.  The  woman  stood  up  with  her 
face  all  wan  and  pale,  and  made  a  great  show  of  sorrow  and 
misery  as  she  began  her  tale. 

"  'Sir,  I  have  often  come  before  you  and  complained  that  my 
husband,  the  father  of  my  child  here,  deserted  me  and  left  me 
all  alone.  I  am  ashamed  to  say  how  poor  I  have  been  since  he 
went  away.  I  have  had  to  sell  my  clothes  and  often  go  without 
food  or  drink,  so  great  has  been  my  distress,  and  I  had  hard 
work  to  keep  alive  at  all.  This  is  he  who  is  the  cause  of  all  my 
woe!  It  is  time  he  paid  for  my  keep  and  made  amends  for  his 
neglect,  and  I  challenge  him  to  prove  my  words  false!' 


288  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"  'A  piteous  tale,  sad  enough  to  move  a  man's  heart,'  said 
Evander  softly.  'I  know  that  it  is  true  in  part,  for  many  a  time 
has  the  woman  come  to  me  and  told  me  her  grief.  But  of  course 
she  could  do  nothing  until  her  husband  was  found.  Now  that 
you  are  here,  Beryn,  make  your  defense  as  well  as  you  can.' 

"Beryn  again  was  silent. 

"  'Are  you  asleep  ?'  asked  the  steward.  '  S  ay  something.  Does 
she  tell  the  truth  or  not?' 

"  'What  is  the  good  of  my  speaking  among  so  many  wise  men 
without  first  taking  counsel?'  said  Beryn.  'Grant  me,  I  pray 
you,  till  to-morrow  for  my  answer.' 

"  'I  grant  it,'  answered  the  steward.  'But  to-morrow  you  must 
answer  all  the  charges  without  any  more  delay.' 

"Beryn  went  away,  his  heart  almost  breaking  with  sorrow; 
and  no  wonder.  He  got  on  his  horse  and  rode  out  of  the  city 
with  his  page-boy,  no  one  hindering  him  now.  He  pondered 
over  his  misfortunes,  and  thought  that  they  all  sprang  from  his 
unkindness  to  his  mother.  But  he  had  not  yet  come  to  the  end 
of  them. 

"Very  soon  he  sent  his  page  away  with  his  horse  and  went  on 
walking  afoot  alone  by  himself.  As  he  walked  he  lamented  his 
folly  aloud,  and  called  on  Heaven  to  bring  down  vengeance  on 
the  rogues  who  had  tricked  him. 

"It  happened  that  a  sheriffs  bailiff,  or  catchpole  named  Ma- 
caigne,  who  had  been  told  about  the  misfortunes  of  the  stranger 
who  had  that  day  arrived  in  the  town,  overheard  Beryn  as  he 
talked  to  himself,  and  he  immediately  made  up  his  mind  to  take 
him  in  afresh,  if  possible. 

"  'Heaven  bless  you,  sir!'  he  said,  going  up  to  him  in  a  friendly 
way.  'You  seem  to  be  unhappy,  and  no  doubt  have  good  cause. 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  289 

But  will  you  not  tell  me  your  distress?  Perhaps  I  may  be  able 
to  help  you  in  it.  Nothing  is  so  bad  that  there  is  no  remedy, 
and  my  advice  has  often  done  others  a  good  turn.' 

"  'Thank  you,  sir,'  answered  Beryn.  'I  know  not  whom  to 
trust.  Even  my  host,  who  gave  me  dinner  to-day,  deceived  me 
and  had  me  arrested.' 

"  'Oh,  are  you  that  man?'  said  the  catchpole,  pretending  to 
recognize  him  at  once.  'I  have  heard  of  you.  You  need  not 
fear  me ;  it  is  true  that  there  are  many  rogues  among  our  citizens, 
but  I  will  give  you  the  best  advice  I  can.  The  wisest  thing  that 
you  could  do  would  be  to  speak  privately  to  the  steward,  and 
lay  out  a  penny  or  two  to  save  your  pounds.  The  steward  is  a 
covetous  man,  and  has  long  wished  to  possess  a  knife  which  I 
have.  I  will  sell  you  this  knife,  if  you  agree,  for  five  marks; 
with  it  you  can  bribe  the  steward  to  be  on  your  side,  and  you 
had  better  promise  him  twenty  pounds  as  well.  It  is  worth 
while  to  spend  a  little  money  in  order  to  save  the  rest.  Come  to 
the  steward  now;  I  will  go  with  you  and  kneel  before  him,  and 
speak  for  you,  pretending  that  I  am  your  cousin.  When  I  have 
had  my  say,  then  give  him  the  knife.' 

"Beryn  thanked  him  heartily,  trusting  him  entirely.  They 
went  together  to  Evander,  Macaigne  comforting  Beryn  on  the 
road.  Beryn  carried  the  knife,  and  relied  on  his  new  friend  for 
help. 

"But  as  soon  as  they  came  into  the  presence  of  the  steward 
the  catchpole  threw  himself  on  the  ground  before  him,  and 
began  to  pour  out  a  loud  complaint  against  Beryn. 

"'Sir  Steward,'  he  cried,  'now  show  yourself  a  just  judge! 
Look  at  this  false  traitor  standing  beside  me  I  He  slew  my  father 
Melan,  whose  death  I  formerly  laid  before  you  for  justice. 


290  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

Melan  went  to  Rome  with  seven  swift  ships  full  of  merchandise 
seven  years  ago,  and  since  then  I  have  heard  no  more  of  it  until 
to-day,  in  spite  of  all  my  diligence  in  asking.  But  now  I  know 
too  well  what  has  happened.  Alas!  alas!'  And  with  that  he 
fell  a-weeping. 

"When  Beryn  heard  this  he  thought,  What  am  I  to  do?'  and 
turned  and  tried  to  flee.  But  Macaigne  started  up  and  caught 
hold  of  him. 

"  'No,  you  shall  not  escape,'  he  cried ;  'my  tale  is  not  done. 
If  I  let  you  escape,  I  should  be  sorry  for  it  all  my  life.' 

"Then,  holding  Beryn  fast  by  the  arm,  he  addressed  the  stew- 
ard again.  'Hear  me,  good  sir.  Murder  will  out,  and  this 
villain  is  caught  at  last.  Search  him,  and  you  will  find  on  him 
a  knife  which  used  to  be  my  father's.  I  know  it  well,  and  the 
cutler  of  this  town  made  it,  and  will  swear  to  it.' 

"Beryn  was  full  of  anger  and  fear,  and  gave  up  the  knife  to 
the  steward  without  a  word. 

"  'See,  my  friend,  this  is  a  foul  deed  to  have  done!'  said 
Evander.  'You  will  not  get  off  unless  you  give  satisfaction  for 
the  body  of  Melan  before  you  go,  and  for  his  goods  as  well. 
Come  before  me  to-morrow  to  answer  this  charge.' 

"So  Beryn  had  yet  another  trial  awaiting  him  on  the  morrow, 
when  he  was  to  be  accused  by  Syrophanes,  by  Hanybald,  by  the 
blind  man,  by  the  woman  who  claimed  to  be  his  wife,  and,  last 
of  all,  by  Macaigne  the  catchpole. 

"But  now  he  was  near  the  end  of  his  troubles,  though  he  did 
not  suspect  it,  for  by  this  time  he  was  ready  to  distrust  every- 
one, and  was  at  his  wits'  end  to  know  what  to  do. 

"'Never  was  a  man  worse  betrayed  than  I  have  been!'  he 
mourned,  looking  back  on  the  hall  of  justice  when  he  had  left 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  291 

it.  'I  have  no  friends  here,  and  all  those  who  offer  to  help  me 
turn  out  to  be  cheats.  Yet  it  is  my  own  fault.  I  brought  my 
mother  to  her  grave  by  my  wicked  life,  and  then  in  my  folly 
I  turned  merchant!  If  I  had  not  been  so  foolish  I  might  now 
have  been  rich  at  Rome,  enjoying  my  inheritance  and  the  com- 
pany of  my  friends.' 

"He  was  lamenting  thus,  when  suddenly  he  saw  coming  to- 
wards him  at  a  wonderful  speed  a  cripple,  with  a  wooden  leg 
and  a  crutch,  and  arms  all  deformed  and  distorted. 

"  'Is  there  another  trial  in  store  for  me?'  thought  Beryn,  and 
he  began  to  be  filled  with  fear.  But  the  cripple  stretched  out 
his  hand  and  caught  him  by  the  sleeve. 

"This  was  too  much  for  Beryn.  He  turned  like  a  startled 
hare,  and  took  to  his  heels.  But  the  cripple  knew  the  paths 
better  than  he,  and  soon  caught  him  up.  Beryn  stopped  when 
he  saw  that  it  was  in  vain  to  run,  and  stood  staring  stupidly  at 
the  stranger,  without  saying  a  word. 

"  'You  would  not  doubt  my  good  faith  if  you  knew  me,  sir,' 
said  the  cripple;  'and,  whether  you  like  it  or  not,  you  shall  not 
part  from  me  till  I  have  come  to  terms  with  you.  I  know  that 
you  are  in  misfortune,  but  I  desire  to  hear  all  your  story.  You 
were  a  fool  when  you  first  landed  here;  I  could  have  told  you 
everything  about  the  wicked  treachery  of  the  merchants  of  this 
city.' 

"Beryn  sighed;  he  was  too  despondent  and  sad  at  heart  to 
say  much. 

"  'Good  sir,'  he  begged,  'I  pray  you  do  me  no  more  harm. 
Have  some  pity  on  me,  and  leave  me  now.  Come  to  me  again  to- 
morrow, and  I  will  give  you  anything  I  have  left.' 

"While  he  was  talking,  the  cripple  had  laid  hands  upon  his 


THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

cloak.  But  when  Beryn  saw  this,  he  undid  the  fastening,  and 
let  the  cloak  slip  off  his  shoulders,  preferring  to  lose  it  rather 
than  be  taken  before  Evander  again.  The  cripple,  however, 
caught  him  by  the  sleeve  when  he  saw  the  cloak  loosened. 

"  'Now  I  am  cornered,'  thought  Beryn.     'I  must  run  for  it.' 

"With  that  he  fled  as  fast  as  he  could.  But  the  cripple,  though 
he  was  very  aged  (being,  indeed,  more  than  a  hundred  years 
old),  was  amazingly  swift-footed,  and  set  to  work  at  once  to 
overtake  him,  saying  to  himself,  The  man  will  be  ruined  for- 
ever unless  he  takes  my  advice.  I  will  help  him,  for  he  comes 
from  Rome,  which  is  my  own  country.' 

"The  cripple's  name  was  Geoffrey,  and  he  was  no  cheat,  but 
a  true  friend,  who  really  wished  to  do  poor  Beryn  a  good  turn. 
His  face  was  worn  and  old,  and  half  covered  with  a  long  white 
beard,  but  it  was  manly  and  spirited  to  look  at. 

"Beryn  was  so  frightened  that  he  fled  till  he  came  to  the  water- 
side without  ever  looking  back.  But  when  he  reached  the  sea 
he  could  go  no  further,  and  Geoffrey  caught  him  up. 

"  Why  do  you  try  to  avoid  me?'  asked  Geoffrey.  ll  swear  to 
you  that  I  mean  you  no  harm.  Sit  down  here  upon  the  seashore, 
and  if  you  fear  anything,  call  your  men  to  come  and  stand  by 
you.  Let  them  be  with  us  and  hear  all  we  say,  for  I  will  not  lie 
to  you.  Cheer  up,  and  listen  to  me!' 

"Beryn  began  to  be  less  afraid  when  he  heard  Geoffrey's  kind 
words;  but  he  could  not  quite  get  over  his  suspicions  after  so 
many  misfortunes. 

"  'I  know  not  whom  I  can  trust,'  he  said.  'Nevertheless,  if 
you  will  come  on  board  one  of  my  ships,  I  will  hear  what  you 
have  to  say.' 

"  'Very  well,  I  will  come  aboard,  and  put  myself  into  your 


THE  MERCHANTS  SECOND  TALE  293 

power.  But  if  by  my  advice  you  are  able  to  get  the  better  of 
your  enemies,  and  give  their  pride  a  fall,  what  reward  shall  I 
have?' 

"  'I  will  reward  you  truly  and  honestly,  I  promise  you,5  said 
Beryn. 

"  'Then  I  will  join  you,  and  tell  you  what  to  do.' 

"  'But  what  is  your  name,  friend?'  asked  Beryn  as  they  went 
on  board  together. 

"  'Geoffrey,'  replied  the  cripple.  'I  am  not  a  citizen  of  this 
place,  but  come  from  Rome.  But  I  have  dwelt  for  many  years 
here  among  these  people,  and  have  suffered  far  worse  than  you. 
I  would  not  put  up  with  their  lies,  and  I  paid  dearly  for  my 
boldness.  They  are  the  vilest  set  of  rogues  on  earth,  and  they 
have  never  had  an  honest  thought  among  them.  They  robbed 
me  of  a  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  merchandise,  and  I  hardly  es- 
caped with  my  life.  To  save  myself,  I  had  to  pretend  to  be  a 
cripple,  such  as  you  see  me  now.  Yet  my  limbs  are  whole  and 
sound  enough,  and  I  need  no  crutches.' 

"With  that  he  threw  away  his  wooden  leg  and  crutch  and 
leaped  and  danced  and  ran  up  and  down  the  deck  to  show  his 
strength. 

"At  length  he  and  Beryn  and  the  captains  of  the  ships  sat  down 
to  hold  a  council.  Beryn  told  them  all  everything  that  had 
happened,  and  said  to  Geoffrey,  'If  you  know  anyone  who  could 
really  help  me,  and  defend  me  to-morrow  in  court,  I  vow  I 
would  become  his  liege-man  and  servant!' 

"  'That  would  be  too  much  to  do,'  said  the  late  cripple.  'But 
if  you  will  promise  me  one  thing  I  will  save  you.  Will  you,  if 
I  defeat  your  enemies  and  win  your  case,  carry  me  in  one  of  your 
ships  to  Rome?' 


294  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"Beryn  took  his  men's  advice,  and  at  length  promised  to  do  as 
Geoffrey  asked.  Then  Geoffrey  began  to  show  Beryn  how  to 
escape  his  false  accusers. 

"  'You  must  tell  me  all  about  your  accusers  and  the  charges 
they  bring  against  you,'  he  said,  'because  I  mean  to  take  advan- 
tage of  their  customs,  and  turn  the  tables  on  them  by  appealing 
to  the  king.  You  know  how  treacherous  they  are,  like  all  the 
rest  of  the  people  of  this  country.  In  their  law  the  only  proof 
required  is  that  enough  witnesses  shall  swear  that  a  thing  is  true, 
no  matter  what  be  said  against  it;  and  it  is  no  use  to  plead  that 
your  side  of  the  case  is  true,  because  they  all  stand  by  one  an- 
other, and  every  accuser  will  get  a  hundred  or  more  to  back  him 
with  the  same  tale.  The  reason  of  this  is  that  Isope,  their  king, 
hates  lying,  and  punishes  it  with  death,  so  that,  to  save  one  an- 
other, they  agree  to  stand  by  the  lies  they  have  told,  in  order  to 
escape  a  charge  of  falsehood.  The  only  way,  therefore,  to  beat 
them  is  to  tell  bigger  lies,  which  is  what  we  must  do  to-morrow.' 

"  'Heaven  grant  me  aidl'  said  Beryn.  'If  I  can  only  save  my- 
self by  lying,  then  lie  I  must.'  Then  he  told  Geoffrey  all  the 
different  charges  that  had  been  brought  against  him. 

'f  'I  will  not  fail  you,'  Geoffrey  said,  when  he  had  heard  the 
whole  story.  'Now,  listen  to  me.' 

"With  that  he  told  Beryn  how  to  approach  King  Isope;  for 
that,  he  said,  was  the  only  way  of  escape. 

"  'Isope,  though  he  has  been  blind  for  more  than  sixty  years, 
is  the  wisest  king  on  earth,  and  will  have  no  evil-doing  among 
his  citizens,  though,  as  I  have  showed  you,  he  cannot  always  find 
out  what  is  amiss,  because  they  all  lie  alike.  He  is  very  learned 
— more  learned  than  even  the  Seven  Sages  of  Rome — and  he 
speaks  all  manner  of  tongues ;  and  though  he  has  reigned  for  seven 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  295 

score  years,  his  spirit  is  as  strong  and  active  as  ever.  Now  you, 
Beryn,  must  go  to  Isope.  He  lives  in  a  great  palace,  which  you 
must  not  enter  by  the  big  main  gate,  where  there  are  men  on 
guard  who  would  stop  you,  but  by  a  window  in  the  wall  to  the 
right  of  the  gate.  When  you  are  inside,  you  will  see  in  front 
of  you  a  portcullis ;  pass  by  that,  and  you  will  come  to  a  great 
hall  paved  with  gold.  There  there  are  set  two  huge  stones,  one 
for  ever  blazing,  so  hot  that  it  burns  all  who  come  near,  and  the 
other  so  cold  that  it  freezes  everything.  You  must  walk  very 
warily  and  lightly,  or  you  will  not  get  past.  At  the  end  of  the 
hall  is  a  door,  guarded  by  two  leopards,  which  will  spring  out  at 
you  to  seize  you.  But  there  is  nothing  they  hate  so  much  as  a 
man's  breath,  and  if  you  blow  in  their  faces  just  at  the  right 
moment  they  will  let  you  leave  the  hall  unhurt.  On  the  other 
side  of  this  door  you  will  come  into  the  loveliest  garden  in  the 
whole  world,  containing  every  plant  and  shrub  and  flower  that 
blows,  and  birds  of  pure  gold  singing  and  flying.  In  the  middle 
stands  the  fairest  tree  that  was  ever  seen,  with  leaves  of  silver 
and  gold.  The  garden  is  watched  by  eight  Magicians,  four  of 
them  sleeping,  while  the  other  four  keep  guard ;  they  cause  the 
forms  of  horrible  dragons  to  appear,  loathly  and  terrible  enough 
to  frighten  the  bravest  man  unless  he  were  warned  in  time. 
There  is  also  a  white  lion,  which  in  its  time  has  eaten  five  hun- 
dred or  more  men.  But  all  these  dangers  you  will  pass  in  safety 
if  you  go  to  the  tree  in  the  middle  and  touch  it;  whoever  does 
that  need  fear  nothing.  Last  of  all,  when  you  have  gone  right 
through  the  garden,  you  will  see  a  narrow  path,  which,  as  you  go 
along  it,  grows  wider  and  wider,  until  you  come  to  Isope's  own 
chamber.  There  you  must  tell  the  King  your  story  as  best  you 
can,  and  have  the  charges  against  you  properly  read,  so  as  to 


296  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

know  clearly  of  what  you  are  accused.  [Then  come  back  to  me, 
when  you  know  exactly  what  will  bo  brought  against  you,  and  we 
will  take  counsel  again  together. 

"  'No,'  said  Beryn,  'I  would  rather  lose  all  my  merchandise 
than  go  such  a  journey  as  you  ask!' 

"  'Then,  for  your  sake  I  will  go  myself,'  replied  Geoffrey.  'I 
will  return  by  cock-crow.  Be  of  good  cheer  while  I  am  gone.' 

"With  that  he  set  out  for  the  wonderful  palace  of  King  Isope." 

IV.— GEOFFREY,  THE  MASTER-ROGUE 

"When  Geoffrey  was  gone,  Beryn  and  his  men  fell  into  low 
spirits  again.  They  feared  that  he  might  betray  them  by  some 
new  trick,  and  all  night  long  they  did  nothing  but  rail  against 
their  unhappy  fate,  crying  out  that  their  goods  would  be  taken 
and  themselves  sold  as  slaves.  When  it  began  to  dawn,  and 
cocks  were  heard  giving  their  earliest  crow,  a  still  deeper  de- 
spair seized  them.  Still  Geoffrey  did  not  return,  and  at  last  they 
made  up  their  minds  to  try  and  escape  by  sailing  away. 

"They  trimmed  the  sails  in  a  hurry,  and  made  all  ready  for 
setting  out,  and  were  just  about  to  start  when  they  saw  Geoffrey 
racing  to  the  waterside  with  his  crutch,  which  he  had  taken  up 
again  to  deceive  the  citizens.  He  stood  on  the  shore  calling 
loudly  to  them,  and  Beryn  ordered  a  boat  to  be  sent  to  fetch  him 
on  board.  His  men  distrusted  Geoffrey,  but  nevertheless  they 
obeyed  and  brought  him  before  Beryn. 

"  Why  have  you  lost  heart,  Beryn ?'  asked  Geoffrey  as  soon  as 
he  arrived.  'If  you  are  low-spirited,  your  men  will  follow  your 
example.  Cheer  up,  and  trust  me;  I  heard  all  about  the  law  of 
the  case  from  King  Isope,  and  I  will  outwit  your  enemies — ay, 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  297 

and  make  them  pay  you  heavy  damages,  too.  You  know,  the 
law  is  that  if  the  accuser  does  not  prove  his  charge,  or  fulfill  his 
part  of  the  contract,  he  must  pay  the  accused  the  same  sum  that 
he  sued  him  for.  Now  let  us  have  some  food.' 

"It  was  by  now  nearly  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  Beryn 
and  Geoffrey  ate  and  drank,  and  Beryn  felt  his  spirits  reviving. 
But  his  men  were  still  distrustful  and  despondent,  and  were  for 
throwing  Geoffrey  overboard;  and  in  their  discontent  and  fear 
they  forgot  that  their  sails  were  set  all  ready  for  departure. 

"Hanyb.ald,  however,  happened  to  come  down  to  the  town 
bridge,  near  the  quay,  and  saw  the  ship  trimmed  as  if  for  sail- 
ing. He  began  to  be  terribly  afraid  that  Beryn  might  escape 
with  his  merchandise,  leaving  him  in  the  lurch,  which  would  be 
a  great  loss;  for,  as  provost  of  Evander's  court,  he  had  charge 
of  Beryn's  five  ships.  He  hastened,  therefore,  to  call  his  fellow- 
citizens  together,  and  roused  the  whole  town  till  a  body  of  a 
thousand  or  so  came  down  to  the  shore,  all  armed,  to  stop 
Beryn's  flight. 

"Now  was  the  time  for  Geoffrey  to  show  his  skill,  for,  though 
Beryn  did  not  mean  to  sail  away,  the  mob  might  not  believe  his 
word,  and  in  their  anger  they  might  do  great  harm. 

"The  cripple  ordered  the  men  to  shave  his  beard  and  hair,  so 
that  he  should  look  like  a  fool ;  and  when  they  had  done  this,  he 
went  and  stood  in  the  prow  of  one  of  the  ships,  capering  and 
bowing  and  grimacing  like  a  madman. 

"'Bless  you,  sir!'  he  cried  to  Hanybald.  'Beryn!  Beryn! 
come  here  and  see  the  pretty  people!  Look  at  all  my  children 
dressed  up  in  armor!  They  have  come  to  help  us ;  a  blessing  on 
you  all,  my  dear  children  V 

"He  spoke  thus  in  a  high,  shrill  voice,  dancing  and  making 


298  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

faces  the  while,  so  that  Hanybald  thought  he  really  was  a  mad- 
man, and  the  mob  laughed  heartily  at  him. 

"When  Beryn  and  his  men  saw  that  there  was  no  danger,  but 
that  the  townsmen  were  satisfied  that  they  would  not  escape,  they 
landed,  and  went  with  Geoffrey  towards  the  court-house.  On 
the  way  Beryn  asked  Hanybald,  who  joined  them,  why  all  those 
armed  men  had  come  down  to  the  quay. 

"  'You  were  going  to  run  away,'  answered  the  provost.  'You 
had  your  sails  ready  trimmed.' 

"  'You  are  too  wise,'  said  Geoffrey,  still  pretending  to  be  half- 
witted. What  do  you  know  about  ships?  Our  sails  were  set  so 
that  we  might  grease  the  masts  1' 

"  'But  why  were  you  hauling  up  the  anchors?' 

"  'That  was  to  make  the  tempest  cease  and  the  sun  shine.' 

"  'Why  were  the  portholes  shut?' 

"  'To  wake  the  master.' 

"Hanybald  saw  that  Geoffrey  was  talking  nonsense,  and  his 
suspicions  died  away,  and  still  more  when  the  cripple  went  on 
to  laugh  at  Beryn  too. 

"  'Beryn,  send  your  men  away.  What  is  the  good  of  going 
to  the  court?  I  shall  stay  on  shipboard.' 

"  'Nay,'  said  Hanybald,  taking  him  by  the  hand,  'we  have  no 
such  fools  as  you  among  us,  and  you  must  stay.  You  will  do 
well  to  plead  Beryn's  cause.' 

"  'What  do  you  say,  Beryn?     Shall  I  speak  for  you?' 

"'Hold  your  peace,  fool!'  said  Beryn  angrily.  'You  may  as 
well  go  back  to  the  ship!'  For  Beryn,  too,  began  to  think  Geof- 
frey mad,  which  was  just  what  the  cripple  wished.  If  everyone 
laughed  at  him,  they  would  be  too  surprised  to  object  when  he 
stood  up  for  Beryn  before  the  steward. 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  299 


u  c 


;Remember  I  was  your  partner  once  in  Rome,  Beryn,'  he 
went  on,  'though  you  have  taken  all  the  goods  to  yourself  since 
we  arrived  here.  I  will  stand  hy  you  and  help  you!' 

"  'You  help  me!'  cried  Beryn,  in  a  rage.  'You  are  mad!  Go 
back  to  your  ship ;  I  want  none  of  you.' 

"  'I  will  go  with  you,  and  plead  for  you,  whether  you  want  me 
or  not,  Beryn.' 

"'So  you  shall,'  said  Hanybald,  clapping  him  on  the  back; 
and  he  took  him  by  the  hand  and  led  him  towards  the  steward's 
court. 

"Thus  they  talked  and  wrangled  till  they  reached  the  court. 
By  that  time  Beryn  was  thoroughly  angry  and  miserable,  Hany- 
bald thoroughly  satisfied  and  unsuspicious,  and  Geoffrey  thor- 
oughly pleased  with  the  success  of  his  plan  so  far.  It  remained 
to  be  seen  whether  his  pretended  madness  would  deceive  the 
people  so  much  that  they  would  allow  him  to  plead  for  Beryn. 

"The  accusers  were  already  in  court,  quarreling  among  them- 
selves as  to  who  should  have  Beryn's  goods.  Beryn  was  given 
a  seat,  with  his  men,  and  he  said  that  he  had  come  to  answer  the 
charges  against  him. 

"  'Do  me  justice,  Sir  Steward,'  he  asked;  'I  want  no  more  than 
that' 

"  'That  you  shall  have,'  answered  Evander. 

"  'Of  course  he  shall,'  said  Geoffrey,  'whether  he  likes  it  or  not. 
If  not,  I  will  go  to  my  cousin  the  Emperor  of  Rome.  Many  a 
cup  of  wine  he  and  I  have  drunk  together,  and  shall  again.  He 
is  always  glad  to  see  me.' 

"Then  he  stood  upon  a  bench,  as  if  to  get  a  better  view,  and 
turned  his  shaven  head  all  round  to  look  at  the  people;  and 
when  they  saw  him  they  thought  him  madder  than  ever. 


300  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"The  crier  called  the  burgess  Syrophanes,  who  got  up  quickly 
and  told  his  tale  glibly.  He  recounted  how  Beryn  had  strayed 
into  his  house,  had  been  entertained,  and  had  finally  played  and 
lost  a  game  of  chess,  on  which  they  had  laid  a  wager  that  the 
loser  should  either  drink  up  all  the  salt  water  which  was  in  the 
sea,  or  else  do  whatever  the  other  bade  him. 

"Ten  other  burgesses  appeared  to  support  Syrophanes,  and 
swore  that  what  he  said  was  true,  as  indeed  it  was.  Then  the 
steward  asked  Beryn  for  his  answer.  Beryn  sat  silent,  but  Geof- 
frey stood  up  and  spoke  for  him. 

"  'I  wonder  that  you  ask  us  to  reply,'  he  said.  'It  is  true  I 
am  quite  ready  to  do  so,  unless  my  mouth  is  too  dry.  But  let  us 
hear  all  the  accusers  first.  I  am  wiser  than  you  think,  for  no 
one  of  you  knows  exactly  what  I  mean  when  I  speak.' 

"They  all  laughed  at  his  words.  But  Beryn  did  not  know  in 
the  least  what  to  do.  Nevertheless,  he  let  Geoffrey's  opinion 
prevail. 

"  'Sir  Steward,  I  understand  this  charge,'  he  said.  'Let  me 
hear  the  rest,  that  I  may  answer  them  all  at  once.' 

"  'I  grant  it,'  answered  Evander.  'If  you  wish  to  let  this 
madman  rule  you,  you  may ;  he  is  a  wise  sort  of  man  to  have  by 
you  in  your  need!' 

"Then  Hanybald  the  provost  stood  up  and  stated  his  case: 
he  had  seized  Beryn's  ships  as  pledges,  he  claimed,  by  the  stew- 
ard's order,  and  he  had  agreed  to  exchange  five  loads  of  the 
goods  in  his  warehouses  for  their  cargoes. 

"  'That  was  our  bargain,'  he  ended,  'and  I  am  ready  to  let 
Beryn  take  his  five  shipfuls  of  what  he  can  find  in  my  ware- 
houses whenever  he  likes.' 

"More  burgesses  swore  to  this  story,  which  also  was  true. 


THE  MERCHANTS  SECOND  TALE  301 

'Then  the  blind  man  claimed  his  eyes  back  from  Beryn,  and 
four  burgesses  swore  to  his  truth. 

"  'It  is  a  good  thing  that  you  have  not  got  your  own  eyes,'  said 
Geoffrey;  'for  you  live  honestly  now  with  Beryn's.  If  you  had 
your  own,  you  would  be  at  your  old  trade  of  stealing.' 

"The  people  all  laughed  at  this  sally,  except  poor  Beryn  and 
his  men,  who  were  at  a  loss  to  know  how  to  escape  the  false 
charges  which  so  many  burgesses  swore  to  be  true. 

"Next  came  the  woman,  with  fifteen  of  the  citizens  to  back  her. 
She  had  her  child  in  her  arms,  and  told  a  long  tale  of  the  wrong 
her  husband  Beryn  had  done  her;  and  her  friends  swore  that 
she  spoke  the  truth. 

"  'Bless  me!'  said  Geoffrey  jestingly;  'Beryn,  have  you  a  wife? 
Why  do  you  not  go  and  kiss  her  and  your  child?  Do  not  be 
ashamed  of  them.  I  never  heard  of  this  wedding;  but  now  they 
shall  come  back  with  us  to  Rome,  and  I  will  teach  your  son 
some  honest  trade!' 

"All  this  was  part  of  his  cunning  plan  for  outwitting  the  ac- 
cusers; but  he  had  told  no  one  what  he  meant  to  do,  and  Beryn 
was  amazed  when  he  saw  him  step  towards  the  child  as  if  to 
kiss  him. 

"At  that  the  mother  looked  angry,  and  stood  in  the  way  to 
prevent  him  from  reaching  her  son. 

"  'You  must  be  mad!'  said  Geoffrey.  'Let  me  speak  to  him. 
I  will  teach  him  the  way  to  earn  his  living.'  Then  he  saw  how 
glum  Beryn  and  his  men  were  looking.  'Cheer  up,  Beryn! 
What  is  the  matter?  Have  I  not  promised  to  help  you?' 

"  'Cease  your  foolish  prating,'  said  Beryn.  'It  does  no  good. 
Have  you  nothing  better  to  do  than  jeer  at  the  woman?' 

"Last  of  all  came  the  catchpole  Macaigne,  with  his  tale  about 


302  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

his  father  Melan.     Beryn  had  done  the  murder,  he  said,  and  he 
showed  the  knife  as  proof  of  it. 

"  'The  cutler  who  made  this  knife  can  swear  to  it,'  he  added. 
'There  is  no  other  like  it:  the  hilt  is  studded  with  precious 
stones.' 

"The  cutler  came  forward  and  supported  Macaigne,  and  a 
great  many  other  burgesses  swore  to  the  same  story. 

"There  were  no  more  accusers,  and  Beryn  and  his  friends  left 
the  court  for  a  time  to  decide  on  their  answer;  Geoffrey  re- 
mained behind  for  a  little  while.  Beryn  had  lost  all  heart;  he 
knew  not  what  to  reply  -or  how  to  escape  his  accusers,  nor  were 
his  men  any  more  cheerful.  They  did  nothing  but  weep  and 
lament,  and  forgot  that  they  had  to  give  an  answer.  iWhen 
Geoffrey  came  in  to  them,  smiling  and  hopeful,  he  found  that 
they  were  in  the  depths  of  despair.  But  nothing  could  well  be 
worse  than  their  present  state,  and  Beryn  at  length  said,  We  can 
do  nothing  ourselves ;  we  trust  wholly  in  you,  Geoffrey.  Help 
us  as  well  as  you  can,  and  we  will  contradict  nothing  that  you 
say.' 

"  That  I  will!'  answered  Geoffrey. 

"Meanwhile  in  the  court  the  accusers  were  quarreling  about 
Beryn's  goods. 

"  'I  do  not  want  his  life,'  said  Macaigne.  'He  is  rich  enough 
for  us  all  to  have  a  share.' 

"  'True,'  said  the  blind  man.  'We  all  brought  our  charges 
to  get  something  out  of  him.' 

"Hanybald  bit  his  lips.  'That  is  all  very  well,'  he  said.  'But 
you  have  little  share  in  his  goods.  They  are  mine,  by  my  bar- 
gain with  him.' 

,'  said  Syrophanes,  getting  up  quickly;  'the  law  is  clear 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  303 

on  that  point,  Hanybald.  They  are  mine,  because  I  was  the  first 
to  arrest  him.  You  simply  held  the  goods  in  charge  for  me,  as 
pledges  that  he  should  not  escape.' 

"  'First  come,  first  served,  I  suppose,'  cried  the  woman.  'But 
I  trust  to  your  honors,  sirs,  to  give  me  my  share.  Remember 
that  I  am  his  wife.' 

"Thus  they  wrangled  till  Geoffrey  and  Beryn  came  back  into 
court,  ready  to  give  their  answer.  Geoffrey  entered  like  a  mad- 
man, barefooted  and  grimacing,  playing  with  a  little  stick,  and 
whistling  at  every  step.  The  steward  and  the  burgesses  all 
laughed  heartily  at  the  strange  sight,  mocking  him  for  a  fool; 
but  he  very  soon  showed  them  that  it  was  they  who  were  the 
fools. 

"  'Now,  enough  of  these  jokes,'  he  said.  'You  have  let  me 
plead  for  Beryn,  and  I  am  going  to  speak  now,  whether  I  do 
it  well  or  ill.  Look  to  yourselves,  and  judge  fairly,  for  I  have 
been  to  your  king  Isope,  and  I  warn  you  against  his  wrath! 
Now  for  the  accusers,  one  by  one!' 

"With  that  he  gave  his  answer  on  each  charge  separately,  not 
denying  the  accusation — for  that  was  impossible  in  this  city  of 
lies — but  meeting  it  with  a  bigger  lie  or  a  countercharge. 

"  'First  of  all,  Syrophanes,'  he  said,  'the  loser  of  the  wager 
was  to  drink  all  the  salt  water  which  was  in  the  sea,  unless  he 
did  what  the  winner  ordered.  Is  not  that  the  plea?  Answer  me !' 

"Evander  and  the  rest  of  the  court  sat  silent.  They  began  to 
see  that  Geoffrey  was  not  the  fool  they  had  believed  him  to  be, 
and  they  showed  their  uneasiness  by  their  looks.  Geoffrey  has- 
tened to  drive  his  nail  right  home. 

"'Yes,  you  do  not  answer!  Your  silence  means  consent. 
That  was  the  plea — that  Beryn  must  obey  Syrophanes,  or  drink 


304  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

up  all  the  salt  water  which  is  in  the  sea.  Well,  hear  now  how 
Beryn  came  to  make  that  wager.  He  did  it  on  purpose,  and  he 
lost  it  on  purpose,  too.  He  could  have  won  the  game,  had  he 
wished,  for  there  is  no  one  in  this  city  who  can  play  chess  better 
than  he.  Better,  do  I  say?  No,  nor  half  so  well.  And  the 
reason  why  he  lost  was  this.  When  we  were  at  sea,  a  terri- 
ble storm  of  thunder  and  lightning,  wind  and  rain,  fell  upon 
us ;  we  drove  before  it  for  fifteen  days,  and  had  given  up  all  hope, 
when  suddenly  a  voice  was  heard  speaking  to  us  out  of  the  storm, 
saying,  "If  you  wish  to  be  saved,  your  master  Beryn  must  vow 
to  drink  up  all  the  salt  water  which  is  in  the  sea;  but  no  fresh 
water  must  be  mixed  with  it."  The  voice  also  told  Beryn  how 
to  separate  the  salt  water  in  the  sea  from  the  fresh.  Beryn,  to 
save  us,  made  this  vow ;  but  he  was  not  rich  enough  to  carry  out 
this  separation  by  himself,  and  so,  when  he  reached  your  city, 
he  gladly  agreed  to  the  wager  with  Syrophanes,  who  is  rich,  and 
can  easily  afford  to  take  the  salt  water  away  from  the  fresh. 
You  see,  then,  that  it  is  Syrophanes  who  is  at  fault,  and  not 
Beryn.  Beryn  will  willingly  perform  his  share  of  the  wager, 
and  drink  all  the  salt  water  in  the  sea ;  but  Syrophanes  must  first 
separate  it  from  the  fresh,  because  Beryn  never  agreed  to  drink 
any  of  the  fresh.' 

"Syrophanes  turned  pale  when  he  heard  this  speech,  and  asked 
the  steward  what  he  should  do. 

"  'The  Romans  are  too  cunning  for  you,'  answered  Evander, 
'and  you  will  have  to  suffer  for  your  wager.  You  know  that  the 
law  orders  you  to  pay  damages  if  you  do  not  fulfill  your  part. 
You  had  better  let  Beryn  go,  if  he  will  agree  to  it.' 

"  'It  is  a  very  clever  answer  of  his,'  said  Syrophanes,  'and  I 
must  do  as  you  say.' 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  305 

"With  that  he  withdrew  his  charge.  But  Geoffrey  would 
have  none  of  it;  he  was  going  to  exact  all  his  full  due,  and  de- 
manded damages  as  well,  unless  Syrophanes  could  carry  out  the 
strict  terms  of  the  wager,  and  separate  the  salt  water  from  the 
fresh. 

"  'You  know  that  that  is  the  law,  Sir  Steward,'  he  said.  'My 
master  will  perform  his  share  if  Syrophanes  does  his.' 

"  'But,  Geoffrey,'  answered  Evander,  'how  is  it  possible  to 
divide  the  salt  from  the  fresh?' 

"  'You  can  do  it  easily  if  you  are  rich  enough.  But  we  will 
not  insist  on  it  if  Syrophanes  will  pay  us  heavy  damages.  Do 
not  try  to  stand  in  our  way.  We  have  been  to  Isope,  and  we 
know  that  he  will  see  justice  done!' 

"So  Syrophanes  had  to  give  pledges  that  he  would  pay  heavy 
damages,  and  Geoffrey  went  on  to  the  next  case. 

"  'Now  for  Hanybald.  Five  shiploads  of  whatever  goods 
Beryn  could  find  in  his  warehouses!  Well,  let  us  go  and  look 
at  the  warehouses,  to  see  if  there  is  anything  in  them  that  we 
want.' 

"The  steward  and  Hanybald  and  the  rest  went  to  the  ware- 
houses, and  saw  the  big  empty  rooms. 

"  'Beryn  will  not  get  much  out  of  Hanybald,'  said  the  steward, 
seeing  nothing  that  could  be  taken  away  as  merchandise.  The 
houses  were  swept  clean,  and  Beryn  was  at  a  loss  to  think  how 
Geoffrey  would  get  him  off. 

"  'Leave  it  to  me,'  said  Geoffrey  to  him  quietly;  'they  will  get 
the  worst  of  it,  for  all  their  cleverness.' 

"  'Well,  Syrophanes  has  good  reason  to  hate  these  Romans,1 
said  Evander  to  Hanybald,  'but  I  think  that  you  will  get  the 
better  of  ih&^ ' 


306  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"  'I  will  make  them  pay,  too,'  said  the  blind  man.  'No  mercy 
for  Beryn.' 

"  'Now  that  I  have  seen  how  he  has  served  Syrophanes,  I  vow 
I  will  have  his  life  for  murdering  my  father,'  added  Macaigne. 

"But  Geoffrey  was  too  cunning  for  them.  He  had  brought 
with  him  two  butterflies,  as  white  as  snow,  which  he  let  loose 
on  the  sly  and  then  pretended  to  see  suddenly  as  they  settled  on 
a  wall. 

"'Look,  sirs,'  he  cried;  'here  is  our  merchandise!  We  have 
made  our  choice  of  what  we  can  find  here!  Look,  Sir  Hany- 
bald— look  at  the  white  butterflies  on  the  wall.  You  must  give 
us  five  shiploads  of  those.  White  butterflies  were  the  very  things 
that  we  wanted  to  buy  when  we  left  Rome!  There  is  a  doctor 
there  who  makes  a  wonderful  ointment  out  of  them  to  cure  blind- 
ness and  other  ailments,  and  we  wish  to  sell  some  to  him.  Now 
then,  Sir  Hanybald,  make  haste  and  give  us  your  answer.  We 
have  a  long  day's  work  before  us.' 

"  'I  shall  have  to  pay,'  whispered  Hanybald  to  the  steward. 

"  'Yes,'  answered  he ;  'there  are  not  enough  white  butterflies 
in  all  the  world  to  fill  five  ships.  See  if  he  will  release  you 
from  the  agreement.' 

"So  Hanybald  went  to  Beryn,  and  said,  'We  are  all  sorry  that 
you  only  came  here  for  butterflies,  for  there  are  not  enough  to 
fill  your  ships.  Will  you,  therefore-  let  me  off  our  agreement 
if  I  give  you  back  your  cargoes?' 

"But  Geoffrey  would  not  let  Beryn  yield.  'No,  no!'  he  said; 
'keep  your  word,  and  we  will  keep  ours.  The  law  is  on  our  side, 
and  we  fear  nothing  while  King  Isope  is  alive.' 

"So  Hanybald  also  had  to  pledge  himself  to  pay.  Then 
Geoffrey  went  on. 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  307 

"  'Now  as  to  this  blind  man  who  says  that  Beryn  has  his  eyes. 
It  is  quite  true:  Beryn  has  got  the  blind  man's  eyes;  but  the 
blind  man  also  has  Beryn's.  They  exchanged  eyes  long  ago. 
They  were  merchants  together,  partners,  and  had  everything  in 
common.  One  year  a  great  famine  came  on  their  land,  which 
was  followed  by  great  plenty;  and  in  the  rejoicings  then  held  a 
famous  juggler  appeared,  whom  all  the  country  round  went  to 
see.  Beryn  and  this  blind  man,  his  partner,  set  out  among  the 
rest  to  see  him;  but  on  the  way  the  blind  man  fell  ill.  He  was 
very  eager  to  see  the  juggler,  but  was  too  ill  to  move ;  so  he 
asked  Beryn  to  take  his  eyes  to  the  theater  to  see  the  show,  while 
he  remained  ill  in  bed  with  Beryn's  eyes.  Beryn  agreed,  and 
they  exchanged  eyes.  Beryn  went  to  the  show,  and  the  blind 
man's  eyes  saw  the  juggler.  But  when  Beryn  came  back  he 
found  the  blind  man  on  his  hands  and  knees,  groping  about  for 
Beryn's  eyes,  which  he  pretended  had  fallen  out  of  his  head  and 
were  lost ;  and  from  that  day  to  this  he  has  never  given  Beryn  back 
his  eyes,  but  fled  away,  and  was  not  discovered  till  yesterday. 
Now,  Beryn's  eyes  were  a  much  better  pair  than  his ;  make  him, 
therefore,  restore  them;  he  can  have  his  own  back  when  he  does 
that.  Give  us  justice,  Sir  Steward.  It  is  not  fair  that  Beryn 
should  have  lost  his  good  sight  just  because  of  his  kindness  in 
taking  this  fellow's  eyes  to  see  the  juggler.' 

"The  blind  man  saw  that  he  was  outwitted,  and  wanted  to 
withdraw  his  suit  But  Geoffrey  pressed  him  hard,  and  he,  too, 
had  to  give  pledges  that  he  would  pay  damages. 

"The  woman  who  claimed  to  be  Beryn's  wife  was  soon  got 
rid  of. 

"  'Of  course  she  is  Beryn's  wife,'  said  Geoffrey;  'but  must  not 
a  wife  obey  her  husband,  Sir  Steward?' 


3o8  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"As  he  spoke  he  looked  hard  at  the  woman.  She  turned  pale 
and  flinched,  and  he  went  on :  'Yes — come  with  us.  You  must 
join  your  husband,  for  weal  or  woeF 

"But  that  was  not  at  all  what  the  woman  desired ;  she  had  only 
wanted  to  get  money  out  of  Beryn  by  her  charge,  and  had  no 
wish  to  become  his  wife  really.  So  she,  too,  gave  security. 

"By  this  time  the  court  was  all  amazed.  The  accusers  were 
utterly  put  to  confusion,  for  Geoffrey  had  tricked  them  all,  and 
more,  for  he  made  them  pay  heavily  as  well.  Only  Macaigne 
now  remained,  and  everyone  began  to  think  that  he  would  fare 
no  better  than  the  rest. 

"  'Macaigne  says  his  knife  was  found  on  Beryn,'  Geoffrey 
continued.  'That  also  is  quite  true.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
about  the  knife.  But  hear  how  Beryn  came  to  have  it.  Seven 
years  ago,  on  the  Tuesday  before  Easter,  Beryn's  father  meant 
to  go  early  to  church.  He  therefore  slept  in  a  little  room  apart, 
by  himself,  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  rest  of  his  household  when 
he  rose.  Beryn,  too,  went  to  church  early,  but  his  father  was 
not  there;  and  when  he  went  to  the  little  room  to  find  himr 
saw  him  lying  on  the  floor,  murdered.  The  bedclothes  were  all 
torn  off  the  bed,  and  in  the  dead  man's  heart  this  knife  of 
Macaigne's  was  buried.  Macaigne  swears  it  is  his  knife,  and  his 
friends  back  him.  He  must  answer  for  the  murder.  From  that 
Tuesday  up  to  yesterday  we  had  no  suspicion  of  who  was  the 
murderer,  but  now  we  know.' 

"  'I  withdraw  my  plea,'  cried  Macaigne,  starting  up  pale  with 
terror. 

"  'Thank  you,'  said  Geoffrey;  'but  we  have  been  put  to  trouble 
and  vexation  in  this  matter,  and  we  want  amends.  Sir  Steward, 
give  us  judgment,  or  we  will  go  straight  to  Isope.  State  the 


THE  MERCHANT'S  SECOND  TALE  309 

law  on  all  these  five  charges,  and  make  an  end  of  the  matter  by 
giving  us  justice.' 

"The  steward  took  counsel  of  twenty-four  burgesses,  skilled  in 
the  law,  and  asked  them  for  a  true  judgment;  and  they  said  that 
Geoffrey  was  right  in  demanding  damages  in  each  case,  and 
that  the  accusers  must  all  pay  a  heavy  fine  to  Beryn. 

"So  Beryn  and  Geoffrey  and  their  men  went  back  rejoicing  to 
their  ships,  with  all  their  goods  restored  to  them  and  a  large  sum 
of  money  as  well ;  Beryn  wanted  to  give  Geoffrey  half  his  riches, 
but  Geoffrey  only  asked  to  be  taken  back  to  Rome,  as  they  had 
agreed  together.  And  as  for  Hanybald  and  his  friends,  they 
were  left  to  think  over  their  losses,  and  make  up  their  minds 
never  to  meddle  with  Romans  again. 

"But  that  was  not  all.  Beryn's  luck  had  at  last  turned,  and 
fresh  good  fortune  was  in  store  for  him.  As  he  was  holding  a 
great  feast  with  Geoffrey,  in  honor  of  their  victory,  five 
maidens,  splendidly  attired,  came  to  him  from  King  Isope, 
bringing  gifts:  a  cup  of  gold  and  azure;  a  sword  in  a  sheath 
wrought  with  fine  pearls;  a  purple  robe  lined  with  rich  fur; 
a  cloth  of  gold,  the  like  of  which  was  never  before  seen ;  and  a 
palm  in  token  of  peace  and  friendship. 

"The  maidens  knelt  and  gave  the  gifts.  'Our  lord  Isope 
greets  you  and  sends  these  presents,'  said  the  first  of  them,  'and 
prays  that  you  will  visit  him  to-morrow  in  his  palace,  with  all 
your  company.' 

"Beryn  took  up  the  splendid  sword,  and  thanked  the  maidens, 
and  made  a  feast  for  them.  Then  he  said  that  he  would  visit 
Isope  on  the  morrow,  if  the  King  would  grant  him  an  escort  and 
safe  conduct,  that  being  the  custom  of  his  country.  (Geoffrey 
had  bidden  him  ask  this,  to  increase  his  dignity.) 


310  THE  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

"The  next  day  twelve  barons  came  and  escorted  Beryn  to  the 
King.  He  stayed  three  days  in  the  palace,  making  merry  and 
feasting  royally;  and  Isope  liked  him  so  well  that  he  asked  him 
to  stay  always  in  that  country.  If  he  would  remain,  he  should 
wed  the  King's  daughter,  a  maiden  as  wise  and  lovely  as  could 
be  imagined. 

"Beryn  was  willing  to  agree  to  this.  *  So  he  married  Isope's 
daughter,  and  was  very  happy  with  her.  He  and  the  King  and 
Geoffrey,  who  stayed  with  them,  instead  of  going  back  to  Rome, 
together  ruled  the  country,  and  by  their  wise  government  led 
the  citizens  away  from  their  lying  customs  and  evil  habits." 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 

HERE  the  Merchant's  second  story  came  to  an  end,  and  here, 
too,  must  end  the  tales  told  by  these  Canterbury  pilgrims. 
The  great  English  poet,  Geoffrey  Chaucer,  died  without  hav- 
ing time  to  round  off  the  pilgrimage  completely,  and  though  a 
few  stories  were  afterwards  written  by  other  writers  to  fill  up 
gaps,  no  one  has  ever  since  been  able  to  finish  the  whole  as 
Chaucer  himself  might  perhaps  have  done  if  he  had  lived.  And, 
as  we  do  not  know  when  the  pilgrims  got  back  to  the  Tabard 
again,  or  what  stories  they  told  during  the  rest  of  their  journey, 
we  can  never  find  out  who  had  the  fine  supper  promised  by  the 
Host.  Was  it  the  honorable  Knight,  or  the  young  Squire,  or 
the  gentle  Prioress,  or  the  merry  rascal  of  a  Pardoner,  or  any 
one  you  like  of  the  others?  That  you  must  guess  for  yourself; 
and  perhaps  when  you  have  made  up  your  mind,  you  will  be  able 
toJ^CLcy^lJiejviiiner  supping  happily  at  the  Tabard  with  his 
friends,  after  their  journey  through  Kent  so  long  ago. 


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